


Relentless

by futsch



Series: Hero, Event, Prophecy [4]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: College of Winterhold - Freeform, College of Winterhold Questline, F/M, This is a big story, Winterhold, so I'll add as need be
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-05-22 18:41:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 64,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6090421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/futsch/pseuds/futsch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the prequel to Rook of Skyrim. Follow Elya Ashwing as she ventures through the College of Winterhold, the Companions, the Dark Brotherhood, and the Thieves Guild. Perhaps she'll finally decide to follow her destiny and take on Alduin but it might mean taking on Skyrim's problems as well. Nords aren't known for being compromising and she'll need to do whatever it takes to stop the bloodshed across the land. Things will get messy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arc 0: Chapter 1

_“The harshness of Skyrim has a way of carving a man down to his true self.”_

\-- General Tullius, Imperial Legion Commander

 

_“M’aiq hears many stories of war… yet few of them are true.”_

\-- M’aiq the Liar

* * *

 

 

      _Two days. Four hours._

      The night was too noisy for my tastes: there were too many crickets chirping, too many wolves howling at the moons. Even the rustling of the grass threatened to drive me mad.

      _Two days. Four hours. Going on five and then six and then…_

      “Elya.” Tyval’s voice broke through my thoughts and my head snapped to attention, focusing it all on my brother. His voice was hushed, ragged. “We need to…” the last sound carried off so that it became one with the wolves’ din.

      My legs lazily kicked at the wood of the small porch of our home. It wasn’t that I didn’t know what Tyval was talking about; I simply refused to acknowledge the suggestion. When I didn’t answer immediately, he slipped beside me and crossed his arms while releasing a quiet and low sigh. I wanted to say something but my tongue was frozen. There were no words that would heal this wound. It was too deep. Too wide. Too painful.

      When our parents had finally died after days of watching them wither away, _that_ had been the final blow. Their absence tore at the flesh of our family and all of our blood had been spilt. All that was left now were empty husks; I was completely empty.

      Empty, empty, _empty._

“I know,” I whispered and my lip quivered involuntarily. My teeth caught my lip and bit down hard to distract myself from tears welling up behind my eyes.

      Tyval and I needed to bury _bormah_ and _monah_.

      My body shivered at the thought. Our parents had died two days and four hours ago. When they drew their last breaths, both Tyval and I were at their sides. The image of their thin, weak bodies lying motionless made me sick. Tyval had been the one to lift the blanket over their heads—their coal dark hair listlessly framed their pallid faces, still curled at the ends. Thoughtlessly my fingers spidered their way through the ends of my own hair, wrapping a curled end around my knuckle and then letting it flow freely.

      Tyval must have noticed me because his own hand reached around and tugged gently at his own hair tied back with an old leather strap. His hair was as long as _bormah_ ’s had been. A loose strand fell against his face, the dark a stark contrast to his pale face. _My rook and raven_ , he would say. _Us dark birds_. We looked so much alike, my brother and I, despite the fact he was older than me. Our sharp noses ran long and our dark eyes were darker than well-worn, oil-tanned leather cured by years of sunlight. At sixteen seasons past though, Tyval was looking more like our father with a squared jaw and some thick stubble running the length of it.

      He turned toward me, his mouth in a flat line. “Tomorrow,” the word sang between us, a blessing and a curse. “We can’t let them rot away in there any longer.”

      I nodded my head solemnly. The house rank of death. When they passed on, both Tyval and me decided we couldn’t stand the idea of sleeping in the house so we pulled out some bedrolls we often used when _bormah_ and _monah_ took us camping out in the wilds and slept close to the porch, the hard ground unwelcome but more inviting than the dead bodies that lay motionless inside. We took turns going inside to fetch a bit of food or drink but neither of us held an appetite for very long. Neither of us had changed out of our clothes.

      My finger found a frayed hole at the place where my thigh and dress met and ran the length of it, almost relishing the way the soft edges fringed the tear. “What will we use?” The question came into being all by itself, I had no control over it.

      Tyval shrugged. “I don’t know.” He sounded annoyed as he ran his hand down his face. “It’s late. Let’s just get some sleep.”

* * *

 

      In the thick of Frostfall, the weather couldn’t make up its mind. As _monah_ had been fond of saying, “It’s no coincidence that Elya’s a Serpent. She was born in the most unpredictable of seasons.” She would kiss my cheek, her blushing lips painted with something thick and rich leaving behind a sticky mark of color on me. “We thought you would be born as an Atronach but then the Serpent slithered across the sky that Sun’s Dusk.”

      It had been cooler when Tyval and I finally slipped into our bedrolls but now that I was wide awake, the air felt a bit more inviting. The sun was breaking through the thick of the trees, bands of light streaming through the brush. The dark silhouettes looked like they were on fire. Stealing a glance at my brother, I tiptoed toward away from home with the aim of finding my favorite tree. About fifty paces from the safety of our home stood a towering oak; its leaves were already the color of rich honey and dragon’s tongue. I spent many a summer lazing about on the branches, legs swinging off to one side while I climbed further and further up.

      As my arm stretched up for the nearest branch, it almost felt like the last couple of days were a bad dream. My foot found a hold and I _swore_ I could hear my _monah’_ s voice ringing out through the thick.

      “Elya! Where are you, my wild girl?” Even annoyed, her voice had a lyrical quality to it. When _bormah_ listened to her, he always looked entranced by her words. I once asked him if she had been a bard in High Rock.

      He had laughed heartily. “A _bard_? Rookling, where do you get these ideas from?”

      “It sounds like a song when she speaks,” I had replied sheepishly, regretting asking him.

      “No, dear, your mother and I had other jobs in High Rock,” his hand tussled my hair. “It just sounds like words when Evra talks.”

      But it hadn’t. There was a song on her tongue.

      _Had been_ , I corrected myself. _You will never hear her song again_.

My legs swung over onto an adjoining branch and I settled there. My hand ran over well-worn notches I had placed there with the small hunting knife I always had on me, tucked in the sheath on my belt.

      “Now pay attention,” _bormah_ warned. “This knife is not a toy, Elyrrya. You’re old enough now to have something to help you with small things.”

      “Like gutting elk?” I had suggested.

      He had rolled his eyes and smiled at me good-naturedly. “Good luck gutting an elk with that,” he chuckled. “I was thinking more like slicing cheese or cutting length of plant fiber in case your bow string breaks.”

      _Bormah_ had taught me cordage with the sinew of animals, instructing me to cut the length of the stringy cords longer than I needed, to twist the ends as tight as I could, to wrap and wrap and wrap.

“It doesn’t need to be perfect. You just need to have something useable when you’re pressed for time.” I watched him wind the sinew so tight around his fingers that white bands striped against his skin. “When you’re older I’ll take you to Morthal and we’ll visit a Nord there. Tolgan’s a damn fine ranger; he’s got a boy now who’s older than you are. Think his name’s Aslfur or something like that. You could learn something from them.” But there would be no trips to the town on a swamp or learning about bows from Nords.

      I hissed and my hand recoiled quickly. My thoughts had been so far from now that a splinter had wedged its way into the meaty flesh of my middle finger. Just as I had the source of my pain between my teeth I heard a voice call out my name.

      “Don’t pull this now, Elya!” my brother’s voice didn’t sound pleased. “We can’t just leave them like this!”

      I sucked a bit harder and then spit out the splinter. “I know, Tyval!” I yelled back, dropping down my foot met a lower branch and my arm balanced myself as I jumped down. Wincing I heard something tear as my feet met the ground. Immediately I thought, “ _Monah’_ s going to yell at me.” And then my heart broke.

      Instead of dwelling on the thought, my attention shifted to my brother. His hair was disheveled, bits of hair now loose from its bindings, and dark circles hung heavy below his eyes. I hadn’t noticed it over the past few days but he was wearing _monah_ ’s necklace underneath his shirt. Now it fell loose against his chest, the coppery glint shone dimly against the early morning sun. _Bormah_ often gave her grief over it.

      “Ah, ever devoted.” His hands would palm the amulet that hung from the metal cord, a triangle in the center with three circles bordering each side. “Bretony life will never leave you, my love.”

      “Oh, shut it,” she would reply sticking out her tongue and yanking back her necklace. “You know as well as I Julianos never harmed anyone.”

      He would snicker at that. “Tell that to anyone who ever faced a battlemage loyal to him.” But it never went any farther than that. Just a little friendly joking that was some inside joke between my parents. It must have bothered Tyval to have it loose because his hands quickly tucked it into his shirt.

      My brother met me at the base of the oak. “Tristyval, I _know_. Stop treating me like a child.”

      He briefly acknowledged my complaint with the roll of his eyes. “I’m _not_.” And then suddenly, his voice began to crack. “I just want to be finished with this.”

      There was no second thought when I wrapped my arms around him and buried my face in his chest. When his arms returned my gesture, my tears found new a new source of sadness and I sobbed loudly. My heart pounded in my ears and my face felt flushed. I couldn’t breathe through my nose as snot began to clog my airways. In between my own blubbering, I heard Tyval’s own weeping, quieter and seemingly more refined. One hand rested against my shoulders but another reached up and held the back of my head. His long fingers lightly gripped my hair as he wept.

      I pulled back and half-smiled as I ran the sleeve of my shirt underneath my nose, “Sorry ‘bout your shirt.”

      Tyval’s bloodshot eyes glanced down momentarily as he pulled the shirt from his chest. “Thanks,” he laughed joylessly. “As if I didn’t have enough to worry about.” His arm wrapped around my shoulder and we walked back to our empty home without a word between us.

      As we stood at the closed door, neither of us made the first move.

      How often had I passed through this door thoughtlessly? My mind flew to every memory that I ran in and out, chasing after Tyval or following _bormah_ or help _monah_. The last few weeks though every time I closed the heavy wood door with its creaky metal hinges, I was afraid that when I returned my parents would have died. Each time I came back with a couple of rabbits in my grip and bound by the neck, I would catch my breath before I summoned the courage to open the door again and again.

      Taking in a deep breath now I hoped that some of that courage remained somewhere inside of me as my hand suddenly became sweaty. When I threw door open, the quiet unnerved me. It looked the same: the table still sat in the corner with scraps of food lying about, the fire place remained empty and cold. Both of us moved slowly toward our parents’ room. I thought I saw Tyval grasp at the amulet around his neck. From where I stood, all I could see were their feet tenting up the thick blanket.

      He took a deep breath and his hand found mine. “Ready?”

      Squeezing in response, I shook my head violently. “No,” I choked out. “I mean, shouldn’t we dig their graves first? Then we’d have somewhere to put them.”

      Instead he disagreed, “And how big should we make the plots?”

      “ _How are we going to dig their plots?_ ” I hissed, pulling my hand from his. “With our bare hands? Maybe you’ve got a spell for digging up earth, hmm?”

      “I don’t know! Alright?” One hand raked through his hair roughly. “What I _do_ know is that we can’t keep sleeping outside and waiting until their corpses have withered down to nothing but _bone_. We have to at least get the bodies out.”

      The thought of _bormah_ and _monah_ ’s body rotting outside where the flies could lay maggots and the wolves could rip their flesh apart enraged me. “No! Until we know what we’re doing, I refuse!” My hands flew out and I continued to shriek, “ _You can’t just let them sit out there and let the wilds claim them!_ ”

      Tyval didn’t take the abuse quietly. “Well then! Why don’t _you_ tell _me_ then? I’m sure someone with _thirteen_ seasons under their belt knows _everything_.”

      And it was childish but my anger was too white hot for me to see clearly. Jerking my dress upwards I unleashed a swift kick to his shin. He immediately wrenched the affected leg up toward his chest and howled in pain.

      “To Oblivion with you!” he cursed, still rubbing at the hard knot that I was certain was forming where I had struck him. “This is _exactly_ why Mama and Papa were always ran ragged.”

      As soon as the words left his mouth, he inhaled sharply and his lips parted in protest but I was already storming off to the room we had shared since we were small. When we were younger we had shared one bed but _bormah_ had to build another one for when Tyval became older.

      “He’s too old to have you as a bunk mate, Rookling. It won’t be soon before long that your brother will be a man and he needs his space.”

      At first my feelings had been hurt but eventually I grew to understand his meaning. Now I flopped onto my own bed and violently cried. My straw mattress smelled so unfamiliar to me that I could have been in anyone’s room. When I felt Tyval’s weight sit beside me, I almost lashed out again but was too exhausted to try.

      He let me continue for a couple of minutes before interrupting my sobbing. “I’m sorry.” It was so quiet I thought I had imagined it. My brother and I were usually at odds but it was never _this_ tense. Sitting up, my legs moved so that I was now sitting beside them. When he looked at me, it was eerie the way his face looked the way I felt: broken, battered, and defeated.

      Fiddling around with my hands mindlessly, my mind tried to find the words. “I thought they were going to get better,” I admitted. Tyval didn’t come between me and my words. “I _really_ thought that it was nothing. I just didn’t want to believe…”

      “…that they were right?” he supplied. “They weren’t _that_ old, Elya.” It was almost reassuring to hear him correct me with that knowing tone of his. “When they told us about Bretons burning quick and bright, I think they meant _natural_ deaths.”         

      I snorted at that. “Quick and bright, my arse. I’m going to make sure I live _forever_.” The joke elicited a weak smile from him before he chastised me.

      “Watch your language.”

      “Yes, yes.” I rolled my eyes.

      And we sat in uncomfortable, oppressive silence again.

      Tyval’s hands rested in his lap, his eyes cast downward and the only sound coming from him was steady breathing. I couldn’t sit still; I tugged at the sleeve of my dress and then thumbed the new tear at the seam of my dress. It was near my hip but the tear wasn’t large.

      “Seriously,” he broke the stillness. “What do you think we should do?”

      My mind raced at the possibilities. Getting the bodies out would be one thing but disposing of them was another. For the past couple of days, Tyval and I had mentioned it to one another but we never went any farther than, “We need to get rid of the bodies.”

      Suddenly I remembered something _monah_ had said once.

      “Those mad Nords, burning their bodies on pyres. What do they think they are? Dunmer?”

      I wasn’t wholly sure what she had meant but the gist was clear.

      “Burn them.”

      “ _What?_ ” His eyes widened with more vigor than either of us had experienced lately.

      “Just listen,” I pleaded. “If the gods-fearing Nords do it all the time, it can’t be _that_ bad. We certainly can’t drag them all the way to High Rock. It will take us _hours_ to dig their graves and for what? For their bodies to rot in the ground? There is no Hall of the Dead to preserve them. Face it: we have no other reasonable options.”

      I searched his eyes for any sign of conflict but the only thing his almost-black irises gave me was weariness. Slowly but surely he nodded his head and his hand reached up to finger the amulet inside his shirt, the metal creating a heavy impression against the linen.

      “Alright.” Standing up he motioned back toward our parents’ resting place. “It’s going to take both of us to get them out but we’ll need some tinder to set them on. Let’s go get that first.”  

      We didn’t know what we were doing. Both he and I just gathered bundles upon bundles of fallen and dry thick branches. Even when it seemed like we had enough, once we arranged them appropriately we still had to retrieve more. Neither of us was certain what a pyre should look like but me and Tyval had come to an agreement that it probably looked like a mattress. He laid the branches lengthwise while I worked on crossing them widthwise. Once we were both satisfied we stepped back and took stock.

      “Do you think it’s far away enough from the house? From the brush?” he asked.

      I glanced over my shoulder, the house a good twenty paces away. We had found an area relatively clear of stray brush but some small plants lay here and there. “I suppose so. The only thing left to do is drag them out here.”

      The words felt bitter on my tongue the way we had to talk about our parents. Overnight they had become corpses that we dragged, bodies we disposed of. But we had cried and cried and cried. There would be enough time for more tears afterwards. The fact was we had two rotting bodies in our home. This time when we stood at their door, we didn’t hesitate.

      Tyval ripped the blanket off their bodies and I nearly retched. The smell was some putrid mix of molded fruit and rotted meat but _worse._ Their skin was ashen but didn’t look like flesh—both stomachs were bulging and their tongues were a sickly-looking purple, sticking out of their grey lips. There was no way I could stop myself from shaking and when I finally spied Tyval, it didn’t seem like he was faring any better. Hand to his mouth, he kept shaking his head.

      “I can’t do this,” his voice stated too calmly but unevenly.

      I couldn’t disagree. It was one thing talking about it, planning for the afterwards. But now. Now. These weren’t our parents. They couldn’t be.

      The rank stench hit me again and I had to swallow some vomit that was threatening me at the back of my throat. Part of me wanted to run as far as I could. Run to the Dragon Bridge, sprint to Morthal. Just anywhere but _here_ and having to smell my rotting parents. From somewhere that I didn’t know existed inside me, I felt something give. It was like the times I fell from trees and gashed open my knees. Once it happened, there was nothing to lose. It was done. The gash had already happened. The worst was over. These weren’t our parents. They were just _things._ A sensation that reminded me of cold ran through my veins.

      “We have to, Tristyval.” Lowering my own hand, I felt my resolve strengthen. “Leave them here any longer and it’ll be worse.”

      As if hearing the truth in my words gave him strength, he snapped the blanket outwards and laid it so it splayed open on the ground. “Help,” was all he said but he motioned toward our father.

      _The worst is over, the worst is over_ , I tried reminding myself. And when both of us grabbed a handful of our father’s clothes to tip him over the edge of the bed, we both jumped when a gasp passed through _bormah_ ’s lips.

“Shit,” Tyval spit out, shaken and breathing raggedly. I nodded, sharing his sentiment. My own breathing had sharpened and shallowed. But then a _new_ smell hit us: loosed bowels.

      “ _Gods_ ,” I groaned and clamped my hand over mouth and nose. My brother on the other hand wasted no time darting past me, one arm pressed to his stomach and a hand over his mouth. When I rushed outside to meet him, my own stomach lurched at the sound of his sick splattering against the ground. Swallowing a fresh wave of vomit, I rubbed his back. “Do you need something to drink?”

       Still doubled over, he shook his head. His whole body shook violently and when he finally met my gaze, his eyes seemed hollow. Sweat dripped from his brow and he was paler than the corpses of our parents.

      “I’m fine. Let’s just get this over with.”

      So we went back to work. Tyval grabbed the ends of one end of the blanket and I grabbed the other; somehow we were able to maneuver the body out of the house but when we reached the outdoors, neither of us pretended to be careful. As we hauled the body across the ground, wide streaks of dirt and brush and rock became unsettled in our wake. The job of actually _getting_ the body on the makeshift pyre though was another story entirely.

      “ _Lift_ , Elya,” Tyval growled.

      “I’m _trying_.” My arms strained as I felt my elbows lock painfully. Squatting down, I tried lifting with my legs and with a final press of force we were able to throw his body onto the bed of wood.

      “Ready?” My brother reached over and tussled my hair as if we were playing some sort of game. No smile crossed his face.

      “Yeah,” I exhaled, my muscles still aching.

      _Monah_ was lighter and we were now prepared for the whiff of stink that hit us when we tipped her body onto a blanket we had retrieved from a chest. Neither of us wanted to comment on the blotchy brown-red marks that seemed to dot her underside. It seemed a little strange once both of them were outside. We were so used to the looming fear of the still bodies in our house that when they were absent the fear never lessened.

Standing over the corpses, all that was left was to ignite the flames.

      “Maybe we’ll find some oil,” Tyval’s voice didn’t sound hopeful. “It’ll make the job easier.”

      So we rummaged through the house. Tyval raided the kitchen area while I volunteered to search our parents’ room. Once I had opened the window, it was a little more tolerable. Exhausting all the options I had, my attention turned to the one chest Tyval and I were forbidden to touch. It had a thick lock on it that could only be opened with a key. Where the key was, I couldn’t guess.

      “Tyval!” I called out. “Hand me a knife!”

      When Tyval appeared in the doorway, his annoyance was visible. “Why in Oblivion do you need a _knife_?” Despite his objection, a knife was in his hand.

      Without answering I motioned for him. “Just hand it over.”

      “And just _what_ are you planning on doing?” he slapped the utensil into my hand. “ _Sawing_ though the chest?”

      “Shush.” Leaning down so I was eye level with the lock I moved the knife so it would slide into the hole. “Maybe we can just pick the lock.”

      At that he burst out into uncontrollable laughter. “ _You_? You’re going to _pick a lock_ with a gods damned _knife?_ ”

      “Watch your language,” I grumbled, still fiddling with the lock. “Go see if you can find the key.”

      While I tried shoving the knife this way and that, Tyval rummaged underneath their bed. When he sat beside me, a wide and smug grin was plastered onto his face.

      “And look here.” Flipping open the box, his hand immediately produced a key. “Now you can stop playing apprentice thief.”

      Rolling my eyes, I snatched the key from him and undid the lock. Lifting the lid open, I gasped. “Spellbooks,” I gasped.

      “What?” Tyval shoved me lightly so that he could peer inside. “By the Eights, Nines, and Tens…”

      My heart sunk a little at hearing my _bormah’_ s favorite curse.

      Reaching in to pull out a book, my eyes widened at the symbol on the front.

      “Tyval,” I whispered quietly. “This is a destruction spellbook.”

      His eyes were too focused on other things. “There are so _many_. Why would they have had so many?” he mused.

      My fingers were already flipping through pages quickly; I licked the pad of my index finger before my eyes stopped on a page. _Flames. Fire._ My heart raced, my breathing quickened. _What had my parents been hiding?_

      “Brother,” I tugged at his sleeve. “It’s a fire spell.”

      As if remembering I was there, he directed his attention toward me. “The good that does. Best either of us can make is a candle.”

      Shaking my head I continued to read. “No…” my eyes skimmed over more words. “It makes sense. ‘Harnessing fire is asking magic to yolk together life and breath in one sigh,’” I read. “‘Once you’ve bound your breath with your life, release the fire.’”

      He shook his head. “It _sounds_ like gibberish.”

      Closing my eyes, I let the words settle in my mind. Something about it resonated in me; the idea of fire and breath.

      _Fire in_ su’um _._

My eyes snapped open and I shook off the feeling.

      “What’s wrong?”

      “I…uh…” my voice waivered. “Fire in _su’um_. Does that mean anything to you?”

      “Soom?” his mouth contorted in confusion. “What are you going on about this time?”      

      The thought wouldn’t leave me. Something about it burrowed under my skin.

      “Never mind.” Standing up, I closed the book. “I think I can do this.”

* * *

 

      By the time I was able to even get something that looked like a flame to manifest itself, night had fallen. The light from the stars fell softly and didn’t try to compete with the moons. Tyval and I were both nursing bottles of ale, the kind our parents wouldn’t let us touch. With our knees drawn, we watched the fire burn into the night sky. Each sip was bitter but also provided some sort of release from what we were watching. The smell of burnt flesh hung heavy in the air. Tristyval did his best to make it look like we were concerned about sending our parents off.  He had drawn crude symbols of Arkay in the ground beside each of them.

      “Tyval,” I half-slurred. “They’re dead.” Surprisingly, more tears threatened to burst from my eyes.

      “They’re dead,” he agreed nodding solemnly. A few moments passed and he added. “But we’ll be okay.”

      I didn’t whole-heartedly believe him but agreed.

      “As long as we’re together.”


	2. Arc 0: Chapter 2

The grating sound of flint on the fire striker made me grit my teeth. From across the room, Tyval growled in frustration as he struck harder and faster. I slammed the book I was reading.

            “Can’t you do anything right?” I yelled. “Just light the damn thing already!”

            He responded by hurling the flint at me and it glanced my forehead. My hand shot up to hold the pain now springing out as I heard him shout back, “Well, sorry I don’t want to wait a _few hours_ for you to light the thing! I’d like to get the water boiling before _dawn_.”

            My first reaction was to throw the stone back at him but instead I burst into a fresh set of tears, hiding my face in a spell book. A hard knot was forming where I’d been hit. Tyval sighed loudly but came over to sit beside me. When he slid an arm around my back, his hand rubbed at a spot between my shoulder blades.

            “I’m sorry,” he quietly apologized.

            Sniffling I shook my head. “No, it’s ok. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.” His arm squeezed me tighter and he laid a quick kiss on the top of my head. Despite my need to keep more tears at bay, another slow and steady roll escaped me. My forehead didn’t hurt _that_ badly; this was just how things had been since we burned our parents. The first day had been unnaturally quiet. My brother and I silently worked to clean the stench of rot out as best we could. Every inch of bed clothing had been scrubbed in water so hot it turned our hands crimson. The lye soap had been so strong that it burned at the small cuts in my skin.

            Then there was another day and then another. We picked at the scraps of food on the table but neither of us hunted or cooked. Occasionally I passed some time reading a few of the books that had been locked away but my mind wasn’t in the place to do so. More often than not me and Tyval just sat on our beds and talked but not to each other. There were always just questions that we couldn’t hold back but we knew the other didn’t have an answer.

            “Why didn’t we get sick?” my voice choked out.

            “What did our parents do in High Rock?” Tristyval spoke to the wall.

            “Why did they leave us alone?” another question posed and unresolved.

            “What are we going to do? Why are we on our own?”

            Why, why, why.

            So after a week, Tyval made the decision to cook. I refused to go out and find meat so he used some of our stores of apple and cabbage. Both of us sliced and pulled, knives rhythmically moving back and forth. Still more silence. Until he decided to try and strike a fire.

            Tyval opened the book and glanced at what I was reading. “More of those spellbooks?”

            I nodded. They had been my only welcome distraction with all the quiet around us. “I don’t really understand them. They’re nothing but a bunch of Illusion and Alteration books.”

            He took a closer look and shook his head. “Well, if after all these years we couldn’t move past a stupid candle then I’m not sure you would.” Another moment passed. “Mass paralysis? Gods, some of these spells look dangerous.”

            Solemnly I agreed. “There was that one Destruction book but other than that just some old maps and that time piece.”

            It wasn’t the first time I had told him that but there wasn’t anything else to add. I couldn’t figure out why so many old dusty tomes had been locked away, why my parents needed maps of every country in Tamriel well-worn and marked. Neither of us could figure out what the time piece was at first. It was unlike anything we had seen before and indescribably old. The numbers around the face weren’t marked in Common but in something Tyval had guessed: “Daedric?”

            “Let’s just forget the books. Here.” I reached over to where the stone was and handed it to him. “I don’t want the food to go to waste.” The only thing he gave me was a smirk.

            “Don’t want to try your hand at those flames again?”

            Standing up I punched him with slight force in his arm. “Arse.”

            We tried smiling weakly at one another, pretending to fall back into our usual ways. But the teasing was less than half-hearted, the jeering not quite as harsh.

            The fact was the silence in the house was deafening. Each time I woke up it shocked me not to hear _bormah’s_ and _monah_ ’s hushed words while they sat at the table simply talking to one another. Every time the door slammed behind me, I kept expecting to hear _bormah_ remind me, “If you break it, _you_ will fix it.” It made me nervous the way ghosts of their words haunted every corner, hung from the rafters and wouldn’t let us live in peace.

            Even when he did finish cooking, we didn’t eat heartily. There were motions, they passed The spoons dipped into the bowls and whatever filled them we swallowed. Although my bowl wasn’t emptied, when my stomach ached I stopped eating and pushed away from my seat. Noiselessness made my footsteps seem monstrous but when I reached my bed I didn’t bother changing. I slept. At some point I awoke and then our lives went on as usual. I stared at books I couldn’t understand. Tyval whittled at a scraps of wood with his hunting knife, each stroke leaving behind a pile of shavings that had since grown to be a small mound.

            More mind-numbing silence.

            The sun rose. The sun set. Our only acknowledgement to the passage of time was to light candles when enough light didn’t stream through the windows. Sometimes Tyval read while I paced back and forth—every time my feet made too much noise, I lightened my steps. Paying mind to how my toes hit the wood, I would spend hours just going back and forth and back again. Some days the only sound between us was the flip of a page or the creak of our beds as we laid down for the evening.

            “Elya,” my brother whispered in the dark as I tried to stave off the cold of the night, wrapping my blankets tighter around me. Winter was soon upon us. “One of us is going to have to get supplies soon. We’re running low.’

            Cocooning myself deeper into my thick pelts, I shuddered. Warmth eluded me. “One of us?” I repeated. “Why can’t we go together?” I mere thought of being left alone right now terrified me. What if he left me alone at home? Any little noise was deafening. Every crack of a branch and chirp of a bird made me jump.

            I heard him shift. “Because one of us needs to stay here. Who knows what might happen if we leave the house empty? You know bandits sometimes stray around here and Papa and Mama aren’t here to drive them off.”

            The thought was followed by some muffled sobbing and it nearly caused me to weep. Swinging my legs over the bed, I clutched my blanket around me. When my bare feet hit the cold floor a hiss of displeasure escaped me. As softly as I could, I tiptoed to Tyval’s bed. “Move over.” There was no argument from him as he lifted his covers and I crawled in. As I curled up closer to him, he wrapped an arm around me and kissed the side of my head. A mad thought crept into my mind. “What if we just left?”

            “Left?”

            Nodding, I repeated. “Yes. Just take what we need and never come back here.” Voicing it almost made it seem possible. “We could go to Dragon Bridge or Morthal or anywhere else. I’m sure we could find jobs and stay in inns.” I let it linger in the air for a second before adding. “I can’t take it staying here.”

            When he didn’t add anything I whispered, “ _Please_ , Tristyval. It’s almost Evening Star. Soon there won’t be anything to hunt and the snow will be too thick for us travel.”

            Tyval released a heavy sigh and I knew it meant he was tired of me pressing. But I just _knew_ it was a good idea. I had paid attention throughout the years and this was about the time that _bormah_ would go to Morthal and come back with a cart full of supplies to last us until Sun’s Down. By then the snow and ice melted away and he could make his trips of Dragon Bridge. But now we didn’t even have enough money to do something like that. _Monah_ had spent a good portion of it at the apothecary. All of it spent in vain.

            “Let’s talk about it tomorrow,” he finally said.

            And we spent another quiet night sleeping fitfully with the sounds of the wilds thundering around us.

* * *

 

            About a week later I was busying myself with making some shoddy arrows, sharpening the edges of the straightest twigs I could find in the woods with my knife. Without warning, Tyval came up from behind and covered my eyes with my hands, causing my knife to slip and nick my index finger.

            “Ow! You bastard!” My injured hand flew at him but he blocked me, chuckling. “What was that for?”

            “Here,” his hand drew something out of his pocket wrapped in linen.

            I snatched it from his hand but eyed at him suspiciously. “What is it?”

            Tyval rolled his eyes and slid the arrow from my lap, poking at the tip of the unfinished edge with his finger. “Don’t you know what day it is?”

            Unwrapping the cloth, I found a sweet roll hiding underneath. I gasped and stared up at him. “Oh.” That was all I had. As I continued to examine the treat, confusion suddenly surfaced. Neither of us had strayed far from the house since _monah_ had traveled to Morthal and I _knew_ Tyval hadn’t been baking. “Where did this come from?”

            Tyval sat beside me with the unfinished arrow in his hand.   “Mother. She bought it when she was buying potions. I guess she thought that by the time your birthday came…” There was no reason for him to finish the thought.

            The roll sat in my lap, the icing on top a little cracked and the usually soft cake was slightly staled from age. I wanted to cry, I really did. In my hands would be the last thing I would ever receive from my _monah_ and I couldn’t save it forever. Over and over again, my hands turned over the roll—its stickiness clung to my fingertips. After a moment, I dug in and broke the roll in half. “Here,” I offered. “Have it.”

            He didn’t even protest. When his hand finally did grab the half my hand was giving him, Tyval looked up at me. “One second.” And then he stood up, strolling back to our room while taking a thoughtful bite of the treat. I did the same, relishing the almost too sweet sugar on my tongue. Chewing slowly, my mind finally realized that I had now seen fourteen seasons. With the tragedy in our home, I had forgotten all about the turning of another season in my life.

            My brother didn’t take any time returning. This time though there was no ceremony when he laid a thick, leather bound journal in front of me. “It’s about time you worked on your handwriting anyway. It’s atrocious.”

            “Tyval.” The whisper didn’t have much power. Opening the journal, I flipped through the empty pages until I reached the beginning. On the first page were two lines: _T. Ashwing_ on the first and _You will find your talents_ underneath that _._ I frowned. The journal had been _his_ last birthday gift from our parents. Writing had always been Tristyval’s favored hobby. We both read and both of us were equally unskilled at magic but while I spent my free time running around and loosing arrows, Tyval preferred to work in his empty journals cataloging plants, drawing animals, or copying entries from the spell books _bormah would_ allow us to read.

            He slapped me on the back. “C’mon. Time for you to maybe think about what you’re doing. That’s why papa started giving me empty journals as present. He kept saying, ‘Sometimes to use magic it takes you looking inside yourself first.’”

            His declaration wasn’t wholly unexpected. For years Tyval struggled with spellcasting the way I had but in a different way. Once _monah_ had tried to teach us a spell called clairvoyance. Both she and _bormah_ were talented but more often than not she let him teach us. She often told him, “I think both you and I know I’m not a patient enough person to teach anyone magic.” But once, she tried. Gods. How old had we been? I might have been twelve seasons past. Tyval and I hadn’t been able to find some flower that she needed for a salve. Evra Ashwing had been a lot of things in her life but, true to her word, patient had not been one of them.

            “I’ve _told_ you time and time again, it’s _easy_.” Standing in front of us, her palm dragged down her face. “Just… just think about it like this.” Her hand grabbed the nearest object to her: a knife. “What do you see here?”

            “A knife,” we had both replied.

            “That’s just how you’ve placed it into your way of thinking but this reality, _this_ object has many layers. Yes, we call it a knife but think about what it is _really_.”

            Tyval and I had looked at one another. “It’s a _knife_ ,” he asserted.

            But the way she was holding it, the way the sun glinted off the blade, I thought I had _seen_ something. My hand reached out and touched it gently. “But it’s a _knife_.” The way I said _knife_ must have made _monah_ hear something promising in the word.

            “ _Yes_.” Turning the knife so it laid flat in her palm, she continued. “Now, remove all the distractions from this knife. See it for what it _really_ is and you’ll know where it is in reality. Here. Go hide it, I’ll close my eyes.”

            And then she handed the knife to Tyval and we both ran outside, far from the house. We found a place by a tree more than twenty feet away and dug a hole. When we returned to _monah_ she only rewarded us with a sly smile. “Was that _really_ the best you could do?” Snapping her fingers a stream of wispy blue light wrapped around her fingers and she tugged. “Well, c’mon now.”

            Without any trouble at all, she had found the buried knife. When she asked us how we thought she accomplished the task, Tyval only shrugged. But I thought I realized something about the spell.

            “The light, the way it feels. It’s all because I see it that way, feel it that way.”

            It was one of the few times I saw a glimpse of who my _monah_ _really_ was. Her grin scared me the way it slowly appeared on her face and the way she hissed, “ _Yes_. And when you can peel away all the layers you can alter what the object looks like without changing it. When you can shift it to fit _your_ needs, finding your goal is never a problem.”

            My hand ran across the soft leather of the book. Tyval continued, “Besides, if you keep good enough accounts, you’ll never know when something you knew will become important.”   

            Rolling my eyes, I pushed the book aside. “Like what? What plants grow in Skyrim? _That’ll_ be useful.”           

            “Shut it, you _Nord_.” The smile on his face tried to jest at me but it was too tired.

            “ _Nord_?” I spit out, standing up. “I’ll show _you_ a _Nord._ ” Playing as if I was going to punch him, my arm swung but then when it made contact with his arm I made sure to simply tap him. “But I’ll let you off easy today.”   

            It felt like the same old way we used to pick on one another but it lacked the usual passion that normally hid behind the words and actions. My brother sighed a little heavier but the weight on his shoulders didn’t release itself. “Elyrrya.”

            Squinting at him, I crossed my arms. “I don’t like how this sounds already.”         

            “I’m heading out to Morthal tomorrow—”

            “—what? No!”

            “—I’m heading out and that’s the end of the discussion.” His eyes couldn’t hide how weary he sounded.

            Still I refused to relent. “Did you not think about what I said a few days ago?”

            He propped his elbows up on the table and rested his head in his palms. “ _Elya_ ,” the groan was beginning to sound more and more irritated. “I know the idea upsets you but one of us has got to get some supplies and I’m eldest.”

            “ _Upsets me?_ Of course it upsets me!” I yanked an arrow from the table and hurled it to the ground. “You can’t just _leave me alone_ like this!”

            Tyval flew to his feet and prodded a finger hard into my shoulder. “I’m _not_ leaving you! Are you so _stupid_ you can’t see what needs to be done? We have _nothing_. No gold, no food, no _parents_.” He emphasized his point by counting off the reasons on his other hand. “And we can’t just leave our _home_.”

            Snorting, I growled, “And what about _you_ , huh? You’re so blind that you can’t see that with nothing we have _nothing_ holding us here.” My anger flashed brilliantly before my eyes—clenching my hands tighter against my dress, I felt my knuckles stretch uncomfortably taut underneath my skin.

            Raking his hands through his dark hair, Tyval asserted, “This. Is. Our. _Home_. We cannot simply _leave it.”_

            A slow pain sat dully in my jaws. I realized I had been gritting my teeth. We stared at one another, the fire in our eyes competing for dominance. Deep down, I knew he was right: this was our home. That fact aside though, our home had grown unbearably empty.

            As if to expel my fears, he grabbed me unexpectedly and gave me a terse hug. “Sister, I would _never_ leave you.” He took a moment to examine my face and gave me another weary smile. “Even if you are a pain in the arse.”

            I had refused to let go of my anger completely. “But you’re still going to Morthal.”

            “I _must_ ,” he ran his hand through the ends of my hair. “Listen, I won’t be gone long. Half a day at most. I’ll just take the spellbooks, a few odds and ends, sell them, and then buy what I can from the profit. There’s only two of us now. I’m more than certain I can fetch enough gold.”

            His hand drew up to the necklace he hadn’t taken off, thumbing the amulet. It had meant so much to him now. There were times I would catch glances of him doing something and his finger would be mindlessly stringing the chain of it. “Don’t sell it,” I advised.

            Tyval gave me another quick squeeze. “I’ll leave first thing tomorrow morning with the cart and be back by the end of the day.”

When I didn’t respond he asserted, “Promise.”

* * *

 

            How I had not managed to wear the floor down to the bare earth by now amazed me.

            Before the sun had even broke across the horizon, my brother was up and dressed ready to head to Morthal. Even as I uttered my last complaint sending him off, he assured me, “Elya, if you don’t shut it, I _will_ run off to Morthal.”

            His jest stayed with me as the sun rose, stretched high during midday, and now it was threatening to set. Just as I was about to make another pass I heard the familiar creaking of our family cart making its way up the worn path our heels had dug after years of walking back and forth. I flung open the door.

            “Tyval!” Then my face fell.

            My brother had indeed come back with the cart but it was still full. This was made worse by whatever mongrel was now happily trotting close behind him. The dog was full-grown and _big_ : a typical Nord-looking pet, it had a thick upper body and even thicker fur.

            “ _What in Oblivion have you been doing all day_?” I yelled.

            My shouting must have excited the mutt because it rushed past Tyval and hurled itself after me, pawing at me and barking eagerly as it left muddy streaks on my dress.

            “Agh!” My growling did nothing to dissuade it. “ _Tyval!_ Get this dog off of me!”

            Tyval pulled the cart beside me and bent down to scratch the dog underneath an ear. It rolled over on the ground to expose his belly. My brother obliged it by scratching against his rib cage. “Ah, don’t listen to Elya, Meeko. She’s just being a thorn in the arse.”

            Even as he contentedly petted the hound, my mind raced at the possibilities of how my brother had been wasting his day. Apparently, he found the time to not only miss Morthal completely but also ended up picking another mouth to feed. My mouth flattened unhappily as I crossed my arms and tapped a foot.

            “ _Again_ , what have you been doing today?” There was no possible way for me to have forced more anger into my voice.

            The look on his face was nothing but ridden with guilt. “That is a long story.” He grabbed the cart and motioned toward the house. “Let’s get something to eat while I explain.”

            Despite my displeasure, my feet followed him and my hands helped him get the books from the cart back in the house. Underneath the books was a sack he took in. I bit my tongue as the dog got underfoot and held in any comment I had about how stupid the name he had picked for it was. A heavy sigh came after Tyval sat down and helped himself to some leftover stew. I didn’t feel like eating. I had spent the better part of a day worrying about the bastard and he had the nerve to act as if nothing was wrong.

            “So?”

            He slurped another spoonful. “I got lost.”

            This had to be some joke. “Lost.”

            Nodding, Tyval continued. “This map—” he pulled out one of the worn maps we had retrieved from our parents’ room and folded it out on the table so I could see what he was talking about, “—is _old_. See here?” His finger pointed to the net of waterways that surrounded Morthal to the northwest. “These two bridges that connected this part of the land to the town no longer exist. I thought I could just follow the river to the nearest bridge which is further south. And then I got turned around.”

            “And then what? You happened to find a _dog_ on the way to nowhere?”

            The dog had been obediently sitting by his feet since Tyval had sat down to eat. “Meeko? Found this guy wandering around this shack with some dead Nord inside. But you can handle yourself, can’t you boy?” As he went down to pet it, I groaned.

            “Brother, you didn’t sell anything. We can barely take care of ourselves much less this mutt.” My hand absentmindedly picked at some of the mud that had caked onto my dress.

            Tyval offered me a sort of lopsided smile as he rested his cheek against a propped up hand. “I know where Dragon Bridge is and it’s closer. I’ll pop over there, buy a cheap map. Damn, I might even be lucky and find a carriage running from Solitude across the bridge.”

            Rolling my eyes I frowned. “What you aren’t telling me is how long you’ll be gone.”

            He snorted and gave me a half-hearted laugh. “And when did you become the distrusting sort?”

            “I’m always leery of someone who’s in too good of a mood,” I answered, reaching past him and taking a slice of cheese from a plate. “You’re too easy going about all of this.”

            Swinging a leg over the bench, Tyval pulled out the sack from earlier and undid the knot that bound it. “Because we’ll be alright for a little while longer.”

            When I glanced inside, I gasped. “ _Food_? Where in Oblivion did you find it?” My hand darted to the nearest apple and I took a hearty bite out of it.

            “I found it with this guy.” Tyval gave Meeko another quick rub underneath his chin. “Nothing much else in the shack but there was a barrel full of food. Nord looked freshly dead so my guess is _he_ just got back from getting a month’s worth of food for himself.”

            Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I asked with my mouth full, “Sho how lang will yoo be?” A fleck of apple flew out of my mouth.

            “Right… _that_.” His eyes darted away from mine for a moment and he cocked his mouth to one side. “I don’t know.”

            There it was: the bad news.

            “You don’t know meaning you don’t know when you’ll be back.” 

            Tristyval threw up his hands in frustration. “It’s not like I’ll be gone for a month, Elyrrya.” Meeko started pacing around Tyval to grab his attention. “Not now,” he shooed at the dog. “There’s plenty of food here and I’ll take a pack to make sure I’ll be good for at least a week—” I opened my mouth to protest but he held up a hand. “No. I won’t be gone for a whole _week_. Gods. It’s just best to be cautious. Besides, you’ll have Meeko here to keep you company while I’m gone.”

            I looked back at the dog and then back at him. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You drag back the mutt of a dead Nord thinking it would make me forget about all this?”

            His hands ran through his hair roughly as he inhaled deeply. “Elya, what in Oblivion do you _want_ from me? I’m doing my _best_.”

            “I don’t know!” I shrieked on the verge of tears. “But you’ve just gone and done all of this, made all of the decisions without any consideration to me at all!”

            Then his hands slammed down on the table. “Consideration! You would have us just pack up our lives, our home! And for what?” When I didn’t answer him, he yelled again. “Go on! Tell me! What exactly are you hoping for if we leave?”

            I bit my bottom lip to still it from shaking but I only managed to whisper, “I don’t know.”

            “That’s right! And instead of helping me, you’d rather fight me every time I want to take a step.” This time his arms just fell to his sides. For the first time I finally _saw_ my brother’s face and how weary he looked. Tyval was too young to look that old. The lines around his mouth and the creases at the corners of his eyes deepened as he scowled at me. “Just let me try and take care of us.”

            Against my better judgment, I leaned over and gave Meeko a few gentle strokes against his back. Despite being a little unexpected, his presence wasn’t wholly terrible. “Tyval, what if you can’t find buyers or a carriage or get lost again or—”

            His arms grabbed me and I reached around to return his embrace. “Sister, everything will turn out fine. I’ll leave again tomorrow morning and be back before you know it.”

* * *

 

            The first day was actually enjoyable. Meeko slept with me and awoke when Tyval readied to leave yet again. When I had finished breakfast, we ran around the woods and I was pleasantly surprised to find that he wasn’t altogether useless. At first I was just throwing sticks to see if he would actually retrieve them. After every throw, the dog would dart after it and eagerly trot back with the twig in his mouth. With any slight noise his ears perked up and his body remained motionless until he was satisfied that nothing was out of sorts.

            On the second day I decided to press my luck and went hunting with some of the shoddy arrows I had whittled down into fine points. Once I had loosed one, Meeko was more than happy to follow it. I was shocked to discover that when my arrow found its mark the hound would return with something dead in his mouth and my arrow still lodged in its body. Nothing pleased me more than when I spied him plodding through the dirt with fresh blood on his muzzle. I started sharing my food with him instead of making him hunt for every morsel he wanted.

            The next day my stomach tied itself in knots wondering where Tyval could be. I refused to leave my bed, preferring to stay wrapped up in my covers against the cold air that was growing even colder by the day. Meeko didn’t move from my side, snuggling against me but resting on top of my blankets. The day after that I strengthened my resolve to step back into the room Tyval and I had avoided, going through _monah_ ’s old clothing to see if any of her winter clothing would fit me. Meeko paced around me nervously so I let him out to run around and chase whatever rabbits were hopping about. It was frustrating to find that while I could slide into her smalls, her thick winter dresses were too long and too loose on me. By the end of the day I managed to salvage a few thick cloaks and a pair of boots about half a size too big.

            But then another day passed and another and another and another. Anytime Meeko’s ears perked up my heart leapt into my chest and I would fling the door open only to find no one waiting for. There was no sound of an old, empty cart or even a full one. Suddenly, Tyval had been gone for two weeks and the air had turned even colder. At night I shook with fear that the worst had happened.

            “Maybe he’s dead,” I cried to Meeko who laid a sympathetic head on my lap. “It shouldn’t take this long for him to return.”

            Another night my anger overtook my sadness. “The bastard!” I screamed as I threw an empty bottle of wine across the room.

            But it didn’t matter what I felt; the days grew shorter and the nights grew longer. The winter was now upon me in the thick of Evening Star and I had to accept the obvious: my brother was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, gosh. The Ashwing parents sound like they were up to some not-so-nice things in High Rock. This little tidbit from the UESP entry on Bretons is fairly helpful: "Espionage has also proven to be one of their strong suits; Breton double agents, assassins, and spies have turned the tide of wars throughout recorded history." Maybe Rook comes by her shady nature naturally...
> 
> And Meeko! Although she's not too keen on him at first, these two will be inseparable. Also, depression is a serious problem-- I bet that both Tyval and Elya have different ways of dealing with what's transpired. Sometimes people make bad decisions while depressed... very bad decisions.
> 
> Since Raven's Song doesn't update as often as Relentless and Dark Birds won't have another update (it's a one-shot!), let me thank everyone here since I think most of my readers are keeping up with everything (oh, you all are so kind!):
> 
> Dark Birds: Thanks to EroSlackerMicha and SerenStone, as well as some lovely guests, for leaving kudos. A very special thanks to SerenStone for leaving such an enthusiastic response.
> 
> Raven's Song: Thanks to EroSlackerMicha, birgittesilverbow, and SerenStone and one lovely guest for leaving kudos. Again, a special thanks to SerenStone for their lovely words-- your enthusiasm is inspiring!
> 
> Relentless (Arc 0: Ch. 1): Thanks again to EroSlackerMicha and SerenStone and to SerenStone for their comments!
> 
> Next chapter? Elya's going to strike it out on her own. Thanks for reading! -Ash


	3. Arc 0: Chapter 3

_I’m alone_.

            No matter how many times Meeko nudged me, my body laid on my bed unmoving. My mind was somewhere else. Over mountains, across rivers. Instead my vacant stare didn’t waiver from a dark knot in the wood on the wall directly across from me. The mutt curled beside me and whined, the look in his eyes pleading with me to get up.

            I didn’t dare open my mouth to speak because lately anything I uttered caused me to sob. My eyes stung every time I blinked; however, it was worse hearing my wails and moans echo in the empty, empty house. Instead of speaking or walking or doing _anything_ , my thoughts had me enthralled in rich, comforting fantasies. I kept thinking, _It will be dawn soon and then my brother will come wake me up. Afterwards I’ll complain but get up anyway._ Bormah _will be sitting at the table, kissing_ monah _and making her giggle_.

            But dawn came and went many times and the only thing that woke me up in the morning was the ever-growing cold that crept between the cracks and curled around my toes and my fingers. One day I noticed that the cold had sunk into my bones, the kind of frigid that wouldn’t melt until spring. Meeko had become my only source of warmth. He was competent enough to go out and hunt for himself so I would let him out. Eventually, something convinced me to at least stay at the table and slowly go back to what had become routine for me. I read, I made arrows, I played with Meeko. The only difference was I became paranoid about my store of food.

            Hunting animals that were becoming scarcer wouldn’t fill my belly. The food Tyval had brought me from the place he’d found the dog was almost gone. I couldn’t bring myself to eat more than a couple of bites of something small every day. My head swam with dizziness while my stomach gnawed on itself but I couldn’t afford temporary satisfaction for long term salvation. That was until the last day of Evening Star when the snow began to fall.

* * *

 

            If it was panic or good planning, I couldn’t take credit for either. All I knew was I couldn’t afford to stay alone in the house with only Meeko to keep me company. Once winter was in full force I _would_ die here with no food. Tyval’s concerns about bandits weren’t just some silly worry he had voiced long ago. With the weather turning there would be all manner of men and women who would have no problem killing me in return for a warm place to stay. So a few days after the snow began to fall, I began to plan my departure.

            The largest knapsack I could find was buried in a chest that hadn’t been locked. There was no use packing clothes save for a couple of pairs of smallclothes. Instead I stuffed every nook of the bag with what potions I could gather, Tyval’s empty journal, the odd pocket watch, what food was left, herbs, rope, and the fire striker with what flint was left over. When I realized there was still room in one of the pockets, I stuffed as much linen as I could. If I needed to dress a minor wound, I could soak a strip in some healing potion.

            Meeko followed me around with more energy than he’d shown in the past weeks. Seeing me up and about must have made him happy so I let him pad along underfoot and tolerated it when he would drop something at my feet.

            “Meeko,” my voice sounded raspy even to myself. I smiled and scratched him behind the ears to let him know I wasn’t displeased. “The more we linger here, the worse the snow is going to become. Believe me, you don’t want to wander around out there when it gets dark and nothing’s familiar because Skyrim’s put on its winter coat.”

            At the sound of my voice he yipped excitedly and bounced around.

            “Alright!” I laughed, surprising myself. When was the last time I had laughed? Bending down I gave him a quick hug. It felt so reassuring that I almost forgot to keep rushing. “C’mon. Sooner we leave, the sooner we can make our way to Dragon Bridge.”

            When the words left my mouth, it _sounded_ like a good idea. Leaving home was what I always tried to convince Tyval to do and now that I could, it seemed like the _only_ idea. That was the first place my brother said he was going to visit weeks ago. If I found him still lingering there I was going to do more than just pepper him with empty threats. My fist was going to take at least one tooth as payment. _At least._

I tossed out every bit of Tristyval’s clothing, searching for the best pairs of pants and shirts I could find. Luck was on my side when I found both of his thick, woolen cloaks. I only had one left after last winter’s disaster; it had been a small mistake traveling along the river. When I slipped into the Karth I was lucky to have pulled myself out but I lost my second cloak as it was torn and dragged by the currents from my neck. Gods, _monah_ had been so thoroughly upset that even _bormah_ yelled at me.

            Wincing at the thought, I continued to rummage through with Meeko at my heels. Dressing down to my smalls, I put on two layers of Tyval’s clothing and then threw over two of my own dresses.

            “Layers, my wild girl,” _monah_ ’s voice reminded me. “Layers will keep the warmth in.”

            The only gloves I could find were a pair of _bormah_ ’s but they would have to do. I wrapped my feet at least twenty times over with the thickest strips of cloth we had once used to wrap our hands with when we did chores outside. Stuffing my feet into a pair of _monah_ ’s thick leather boots that were about a size too large, I sighed.

            “Meeko, any chance you’d be good at finding something to stuff into the toes of these things?” I cocked an eyebrow at him in question but he only looked at me, confused. “Yes, yes,” I sighed. “Left to my own devices, I know.” Reaching over I grabbed a shirt and ripped it until I had enough material to keep my toes from wiggling around.

            It was hard to move with the four layers of clothes and three cloaks I had tied around my shoulders; right now it would be too much but in a couple of weeks, it wouldn’t be enough to keep the cold out. As my too big boots stomped on the floor, the din was grating on my nerves. Taking one last longing look at the table, the destruction spellbook that I had poured over many days laid there. The debate back and forth in my mind was noiseless but still caught my attention. If I took it I could sell it, maybe even keep working on my flames. The only problem was I didn’t have enough room in my knapsack.

            Meeko tugged at the skirt of my dress with enough force that it almost pulled me forward. I crossed my arms. “What is it—” And then I heard what he was going on about.

            _Voices_. More than one and they didn’t sound pleasant.

            I froze. Meeko took note of my actions and released my dress, keeping completely quiet.

            “Damn the spellbook,” my whisper was so quiet that it was almost soundless. My hand reached around to my belt to make sure my knife was secure. “Meeko, stay.” I put out my hand to emphasize my command.

            All those weeks of walking around silently had paid off for at least this one moment. As the voices drew nearer, I crept along the floor and reached out long to grab my bow and a quiver full of arrows. Just as I shrugged the strap of the quiver behind me, the voices stopped. My heart did the same.

            “Meeko?” The hound glanced up at me expectantly. “We’re going to run.”

* * *

 

            The wind whipped at my face as I pumped my legs as hard as I could. Meeko tore ahead of me bounding on all fours. Both of us crunched at the snow and ice that coated the ground and my lungs began to sting at the cold air I was breathing in. There was no point in looking back to wonder if there really _were_ bandits. The way the strangers had laughed and carried on… it wasn’t to be trusted. The only thing I needed to focus on was getting to Dragon Bridge.

            The idea that I needed a gods damned _map_ to get to the tiny town was ridiculous. _Bormah_ and I had made the trip so many times during the year, I could have traveled blind. Now it was just me and some mongrel my lying brother had left me with as some sort of preemptive apology.

            _Sorry for leaving you._

_Sorry for lying to you._

_Sorry for acting as if we would never be apart._

My mind raced to the answer to any apology Tyval would uselessly throw at me.

            _Sorry for kicking you in the balls._

            Anger fueled my steps as the bare trees rushed past me, sometimes a low lying branch catching my cloak or my hair. Meeko leapt over a felled log and when I went to do the same, the weight I carried caused my foot to glance it and my whole body was hurled into ground and the snow. My chin hit the hard-packed earth and my lip caught on a rock. The mutt who was several paces ahead of me stopped dead in his tracks and dashed back towards me.

            All of my dry clothes were now dusted with snow and as I gathered myself to my knees my tongue ran across my swollen bottom lip tasting the bitter iron blood that was now dripping down my chin. Wiping it with the back of my hand, I flopped down onto the log and cried hard into my hands. Meeko rested his head in my lap but I didn’t return his affection. I took one longing glimpse back at from where I had come, my breath caught in my throat. I couldn’t see home anymore.

            The dog gave one final, gentle tug at my sleeve. He was begging me to press on. With his eyes, there was one simple request: _press on_.

            As I stood up and dusted myself off, I realized that it wasn’t the mutt but me. I was hearing my own thoughts and they were just being reflected back to me wherever I glanced. The plead was found in the quiet of the wilds and the distant sound of the river. When a lone bird chirped sadly in the sky, my mind only heard: _you can’t go back so you press on._

_You can’t die. Not here. Not now._

_Press on._

“I still have a brother to beat into a fine bone meal.”

            The thought kept me warm on the inside.

* * *

 

            The sound of the rushing waterfall was a relief.

            “Ever been to Dragon Bridge, mutt?” My hand reached down to give him a quick pat on the head. “Don’t get too excited though. Isn’t much to see here.”

            When the woods finally cleared and we stepped out into the open, the bridge came into sight. The dark structure was more than intimidating against the lightly falling snow and the slivers of moon lighting our way. About halfway into the trip, a strange kind of fear had gripped me. Maybe I had run from home for no reason at all. Maybe Tyval was back and had just gotten lost again. It had happened before. I was aware that sometimes I could be reckless—maybe this time I had acted too impulsively.

            Standing at the foot of the bridge, I stared at the dragon’s head that was carved into stone. Even when I was young, I would ask _bormah_ to let me stop at the edges of the bridge so I could sit and watch it.

            “What are you going on about, Rookling?”

            I liked swinging my legs and bouncing my heels off of the stone. “Are dragons real, _bormah_?”

            And he would lean on the edge beside me, smirking at my question. “Well, the Nords certainly think so. You know, even in High Rock there’s an old legend about a dragon who made alliances with the royalty of Wayrest.”

            “ _Really_?” My eyes had widened and I leaned forward, almost falling off. “Is Wayrest _big_?” My arms spread out as far as they could go. “Because dragons must be _gigantic!_ ”

            _Bormah_ would roll his eyes. “Hah! Wayrest. _Gods_. One day, Rookling, we’ll return to High Rock and I’ll take you to _Daggerfall_. Now that’s a proper city. Wayrest just wishes all of its ostentatious displays could make up for what it lacks against Daggerfall.”

            “Osentashens?” The word rolled around clumsily in my mouth.

            “Os-ten-TAY-shus,” he repeated. “Means someone’s trying to display something that they can’t rightly deliver on. Y’know, like when someone wants to pretend they’re rich so they’ll put on all the trappings but don’t have two Septims to rub together.”

            _Ostentatious_. The dragon’s head staring back at me was anything but that.

            Meeko followed after me without any complaint. His claws clicked against the hard stone, tip-tapping as I took even longer strides. As my foot hit the ground, something odd filled my mind, like the feeling of being on the bridge was overwhelming me and threatening to burst into a full-fledged idea the longer I stayed on the structure. Something about the bridge and the dragon caused my tongue to feel heavy with the promise of some word that I couldn’t quite get a hold of.

            It created an uncomfortable sensation until I finally stepped off of the bridge. Strolling up the path, I allowed myself to feel a bit safer knowing I was near others and not holed up in the wilds. A guardsman in colors I couldn’t see well against the dark shadows his torch was throwing stopped me before I could move any further.

            “Girl, anyone ever tell you it’s dangerous to be wandering around at night?”

            Swallowing my nerves, my fists clenched in resolve. “Just looking for a room for the night. My brother’s here.” The lie came easily enough.

            He nodded gruffly in response as he pointed up the hill. “Best make your way to the Four Shields then.”

            I didn’t bother telling him that I knew the place, hoping that he’d leave me be. Not too terribly far, the tavern was a local haunt and usually quiet. Fryssa owned the place but she had a daughter a little older than me named Faida who shared in the work. Convincing Meeko to stay behind was another matter.

            “Just for tonight. I’ll figure out where my brother ran off to and then we’ll be off again. Maybe I can sell a potion or two,” I assured him, leaning down to scratch him underneath his chin. He seemed pleased enough with the promise and circled around a few times before plopping down his full weight on the porch.

            When I flung open the door, I was met with an indescribably delicious warmth. For weeks I hadn’t bothered lighting the fire at home because there was no one to light it for, no one to cook for. The hearth of the inn glowed brightly for no one now but me and Fryssa, an older woman with tawny brown hair and an increasingly suspicious frown on her face.

            “Anything I can do for you, girl?” her voice dripped with undisguised mistrust as she stopped sweeping. I had no idea what time it was.

            “I… uh…” I twisted a lock of loose hair that had fallen out of its tie with my index finger. What was the most important thing right now? “I need a room,” I blurted out.

            Without batting an eye she responded, “That’ll be ten.”

            Now, here was where things got complicated, trying to convince this woman to let me stay knowing I had nothing to pay with.

            “Right, now about that—”

            “Waaaait…” Fryssa moved toward me, squinting and studying my face. “Aren’t you Colin’s girl?”

            My heart leapt at the recognition. “Yes! I’m Colin’s daughter!”

            Propping her fists against her hips, her frown relaxed a little. “What on Nirn are you doing out in the middle of this weather at night?”

            Pursing my lips I admitted, “Looking for my brother.” It was partly true.

            “Your brother?” As if the word sparked some memory she continued, “Is he your twin?”

            _Tyval was alive!_ was my first thought, but my next one was, _I’ll tear out his tongue for making me suffer like this._

“We look awfully alike but he’s older,” I touched my hair and then my cheeks. “Same raven hair, same high cheekbones, and same dark eyes.” I paused before quietly adding, “Same ears.” Our family had the same slightly pointed ears. They passed for Man if one didn’t look too closely.

            Fryssa went back to sweeping. “Yeah, I think I remember him. Came through a few weeks ago.”

            When she didn’t expand, I followed her and stopped her by grabbing the broom handle. “And?”

            “And what?” Her thick Nord accent rolled off her tongue like the water off a stone.

            “Well, did he say anything? Buy a map? Get supplies?” My hands were shaking at the possibility that he could still be in town.

            “Oh. No, nothing like that from my recollection.” When my face fell, it must have made her realize that I was a little more desperate than I was letting on. “Girl, he left with some elves and a Redgaurd.”

            My stomach fell into my bowels. “ _What?_ ”

            Fryssa shrugged. “Listen, I don’t know much beyond that. You still wanting that room?”

            Hoping that since she remembered my father she would have some pity on me, I told her truthfully, “I don’t have any gold.” Her frown came back, so I quickly added, “But I have some potions that I can’t use. If you’ll buy something, I’m sure I’d have enough gold for at least one night.”

            She closed her eyes and sighed heavily. This couldn’t go well. From what I could remember, Fryssa wasn’t a woman to suffer anything but profit and ran a tight ship. I held my breath as I watched my suggestion go back and forth in her head.

            “Let’s see what you have then.”

            I threw off the bow and quiver, tossing the knapsack on the ground so I could immediately dig out a few bottles I knew I wouldn’t need. “Here.” Between two fingers dangled the necks of a heavy-bottomed, orange bottle and a small, green stamina potion.

            Fryssa snatched the orange one out of my hand and unstopped the bottle, taking a deep whiff of the contents. Her brow furrowed, “What’s someone like you doing with a potion like this?”

            Genuinely puzzled I answered, “I don’t even know what it is.”

            The chuckle she gave me was brief but serious. “It’s a strong illusion elixir. Doesn’t seem to me like you’d need such a thing”       

            “Oh! My _bor_ —” I caught myself. If there was one thing I knew that would immediately confuse others, it was my stupid tongue. “Papa and mama,” I corrected. “They were both somewhat skilled at magic.”

            _That_ gave Fryssa some pause. “Really, now? Colin always said he and his wife were merchants.”

            I had no good response for something I had no knowledge of. Whenever _bormah_ did business in Dragon Bridge, he’d let me run around and play. I had no idea what he told others. Instead I shrugged. No use mulling over that now. “Either way I have it. What’s it worth?”

            Stopping it back up, the woman gave me a thoughtful glance. “More than I have.”

            My foot tapped impatiently. This was becoming a problem. “And the other one?”

            “I’ll give you five Septims.”

            Nodding, I accepted the offer; my interest was focused on the other elixir. “Five isn’t going to be enough for a room.”

            “It isn’t,” she agreed handing me the orange bottle back.

            Examining the thick glass, I racked my mind. There had to be a way to use this to my advantage; I had something of worth. “What if you didn’t give me gold?”

            Fryssa raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Then what would I give you?”

            “A room for a few nights,” I offered quickly. “A map. A few supplies. Food and drink.”

            My foot kept tapping and I bit the inside of my cheek, watching her eyes dart back and forth between me and the bottle in my hand. My nerves were slowly becoming frazzled. If I could just get _something_ then I could start looking for Tyval. Even if I couldn’t find him, I could at least have enough to get me further south. As long as I could get past winter, it would be a success.

            She held out her hand and motioned me to give her the bottle. “Deal. Room over there is yours for at least a week, more if you don’t want to buy anything.

            I thanked Akatosh for the small bit of luck I had found.

* * *

 

            The night’s rest had done me good. Opting to stay in a pair of Tyval’s winter clothes and boots, I broke my fast at the counter chatting with Fryssa. I stuffed my mouth with as much bread and cheese as I dared while washing it down with weak ale.

            “So why are you and your brother traveling alone? You two do know it’s dangerous right now what with the Stormcloaks over in the East plotting something.”

            “Shtromcloks?” my mouth mumbled through all the food.

            Fryssa laughed at me. “Girl, where’ve you been? Locked in a tomb? The Stormcloaks. Ulfric and all the rest of them still reeling after the Great War and that mess in Markarth.”

            I just stared at her. There had been a _war_? “But that was at least a hundred years ago, right?”

            It was the innkeeper’s turn to stare at me, clicking her tongue as her head shook. “You really _were_ locked up in a tomb, weren’t you? By the Nines, young lady, it hasn’t even been _twenty_ season cycles past.”

            Oh. Surely one of my parents must have known there was a war happening around us. They would have told us. Wouldn’t they? I frowned but changed the subject. “You said my brother went off with some Mer and a Redguard. Would _anyone_ know where he went?”

            Fryssa shook her head but before she could answer, a shout from the basement called out to her. “I can’t hear a damned word your saying, Faida! Either come up here or stop your yelling!”

            There was some more excited shouting before Fryssa groaned. “Oh, for the sake of the _gods_. Just one moment.”

            As Fryssa went to check on her daughter, I stewed in all of the information I had just been given. A war. Something going on in Markarth. Maybe the war hadn’t been large or well-known. Maybe it had been something small and just centered over here in the west. Fryssa probably never left the tavern much less Dragon Bridge; all she had were rumors from Nords too bloated and muddled with drink. When they said, “More,” it was possible they had slurred it so it sounded like, “War.”

            When she returned I asked again, “Is there _anyone_ who would know where my brother went?”

            As the woman wiped down the counter with an old rag, she shook her head. “Girl, if I knew anything I’d tell ya. Besides where’re your parents?”

            “Traveling.” Lying seemed harmless; it was either that or admit they were dead. If I voiced the truth aloud there was no telling what might happen to me. I had heard of orphans but knew nothing of what became of them in Skyrim. For all I knew I’d be carted off somewhere far off.

            Fryssa didn’t press me further but tilted her head to give me a suspicious glance. “Soooo, what kinds of things are you looking at buying?”

            “A map for certain. Any potions you might have,” I tried going over what else I might need. “Just show me what you’ve got.”

            She pulled out a score of items from underneath the counter. “Take a look.”

            The only map she had looked worn but well-marked. “Is this reliable?” I asked, remembering the trouble Tristyval had run into.

            “As the day is long.”

            I pushed it aside along with what health and magic potions were on the counter. If anything, on dark nights candlelight would be a solace. A magic potion would lengthen how long I could sustain the light. My eyes settled on a piece of charcoal and I took that as well. When I’d cleared out the food she was selling I frowned. “Have I taken my gold’s worth yet?”

            Fryssa shook her head. “No, but I still don’t have enough to pay you. Just stay here a couple more nights and fill your belly. Weather isn’t going to get any better soon.”

            This wasn’t satisfying. There was no reason for me to stay in Dragon Bridge if I could be looking for Tyval. But instead of telling her that, I grinned. “Alright.”

* * *

 

            The way I saw it, Fryssa owed me money. As I tore off the pelt on the bed late at night, I worked to rearrange my pack so I could fold it and pad it on the bottom. My plan was to stay until dawn and then leave. Quickly. If I could pull off what I was hoping to do then I _really_ wouldn’t be welcome here for long. I bounced up and down on my bare heels to get a feel for how much give the floor had. The wood floor was chilled but I was satisfied. I checked my timepiece once more feeling confident that Fryssa wouldn’t be out and about, too busy working in the basement.

            After staying two more nights I realized that the innkeeper would work from late night into early morning checking her inventory downstairs while Faida slept. As long as I could stay quiet, she wouldn’t be any wiser to what I was up to. The hardest part would be leaving and coming back into the room—the door was unforgivably stubborn.   

            Leaning against the door slightly, I opened the door so slowly it felt like it took an era to do so. Peaking around the edge, there wasn’t anyone around. Swinging one leg out from the door, I made sure to shift my weight into the step as opposed to putting all my weight down at once. The hearth fire crackled softly and I heard some banging around downstairs. Holding my breath I winced as the door creaked slightly. I froze but the racket still continued below.

            As I tip-toed quickly, a fluttering bloomed in my stomach and rose into my throat. I was nervous but it was also a little… _thrilling_. I certainly wasn’t expecting to feel like _giggling_ yet a bubble of excitement sat right behind my tongue. Crouching down to snatch what I could, my hand slid a bag swollen with gold into my opposite one. I was about to retreat back to my room when I saw a ring. It didn’t look like anything special. It was bronze and held a scratched sapphire in the center. Filching it as well, I decided not to press my luck.

            A little less quietly than when I’d left, my stomach continued to feel light and funny. As soon as the door closed, I let out the breath I had been holding and chuckled to myself slightly. But I didn’t let my victory go to my head. I slipped on every piece of clothing I had and slid the bag of coins into my sack. Just when I had laid my head down on the bed, my mind suddenly gave me a disturbing thought: I couldn’t stay here overnight. As soon as Fryssa came back up she was bound to check her wares and when she found the gold and ring missing, she’d _know_. I was the only guest here and had been for the past few nights.

            Sure, there’d been patrons who came in to eat or gossip but only I had no place and somewhat questionable reasons for being here. I shot up out of bed and every flimsy excuse I could think of wouldn’t be good enough. Packing my bow and arrow, I gathered my gear and skittered out the door like an insect. When I left the tavern, Meeko perked up at my presence.

            Over the past few days I sat out with him and fed him what I could but Fryssa tolerated him sleeping the porch. “Hey, boy,” I whispered, ignoring the way the wind cut into my face. It wasn’t snowing but it was still cold. “Time for us to leave.” When he whined at me, I frowned. “I know, I know. I don’t like the idea of traveling at night either but as long as we’re quiet and keep to the main road, we should be ok.”

            The guard was still walking about but he just gave me a glance before waving at me. I returned his gesture and tried not to linger too long. Once we crossed the bridge, I threw a candlelight over my head and dug my map out of my pouch. Meeko padded along contentedly beside me as I mused out loud, “South. We just follow the road that runs along the river.” I pointed down. I had no idea where to go and didn’t have the greatest knowledge of Skyrim. “Karthwasten? How’s that sound, Meeko?”

            The mutt didn’t disagree but I wish he would have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, looks like stealing isn't something Elya is strongly opposed to. She never even thinks, "This might be wrong." It's a very practical matter for her: she knows she's owed money but she doesn't want to waste it staying somewhere Tyval definitely isn't. The Great War referenced here broke out between the Aldmeri Dominion and the Empire in the latter half of 4E 171. This is right before the Reachmen get involved in conflicts in the west of Skyrim. Elya was born 19th of Sun's Dusk, 4E 172, but in High Rock. When Fryssa says, "It hasn't even been 20 years," it's mean to be a reference that it happened VERY recently. In case you're wondering about Rook's age in RoS, this might help you do the math.
> 
> There have been so many kind people who've left kudos on a LOT of stories since I last updated and some fantastic people who've left comments. I'm posting this very quickly before I go to work and I'm going to be very busy this weekend, so I apologize for not offering proper gratitude.
> 
> Next chapter? I suppose we'll see why her mother called her a wild girl. Thanks for reading! -Ash


	4. Arc 0: Chapter 4

As I huddled in the corner of a shack with half a roof and no door, the usual thoughts began to rise to the surface of my mind.

            _You idiot. You should have stayed in Dragon Bridge, shouldn’t have stolen. Tyval doesn’t give a shit about you. He_ left _because he doesn’t want to be found._

The wind howled louder and Meeko huddled against me even tighter. Underneath the layers of wool, me and the mutt weren’t getting any benefit from it. My hands rubbed together in a futile attempt to stir some warmth—my fingertips burned from the scathing bites of the freezing cold. It was useless. I focused my efforts on bundling tighter against Meeko instead. He whined but kept curled tight to me.

            The days had begun to blur together and there was no doubt I was lost. My map was accurate but only for large markers like cities and towns and main rivers. While traveling I found that the Karth broke off into smaller creeks and streams quicker than I expected it to. Following the river south had been a foolish idea and now I was paying for it. For all I knew I was so turned around I was heading north again. I would believe it what with the snow storm blowing around me.

            The only thing that helped me keep track of time was my journal. Sun’s Dawn hadn’t been any kinder to me than Evening’s Star had been. In the time between, my only major accomplishments had been to eat half my supply of food, kill starved rabbits, and find shelter when I needed to. The shack that we were sheltered in now was close to the road but tucked in far enough into the woods that the naked trees provided some cover. In the last few weeks the only other soul I had passed by was a lone courier, rushing past to deliver something.

            “Meeko,” I whispered. “Stop squirming. We need to stay here until the storm passes and then we’ll get back to traveling.”

            He barked in reply and I put a gloved finger to my mouth.

            “And stay _quiet_. Last thing we need is for a wolf to hear you.” I didn’t want to think about the other worse things like bears or sabre cats. Wolves were the only thing I had ever seen in my life but I’d heard stories about vicious sabre cats and snarling bears. The dog and I had already had a few run-ins with his wild cousins but running from them wasn’t a problem as long as there wasn’t a pack. When there was, climbing up a tree wasn’t difficult. Meeko often held his own, snapping and growling while I loosed a few arrows at the animal. But I couldn’t imagine that would work for anything bigger. Just stay away from caves. Don’t wander too far into the wilds.

            Rubbing my hands together again, I brought my cupped palms to my nose and breathed out hot air to warm my face. I had never been so unbearably cold in my life. My face was numb and my bones felt paralyzed. Even as my tongue licked across my lips to provide a small amount of warmth, chapping caused my lips to crack and bleed. Sleep was the only thing that permeated my thoughts but even Meeko wasn’t foolish enough to succumb to that sweet refuge—the moment I closed my eyes would be the moment I would freeze to death or worse: someone could find me, rob me.

            Not that what I had was worth anything here. Stealing from Fryssa had only rewarded me with about sixty Septims and I couldn’t very well spend it in the wilds. Somehow I managed a joyless laugh as the idea of offering the gods some gold to stop the storm crossed my mind. Until this passed there was only one thing I could do. Breathing in, I tried to remember what it felt like when I created that fire to burn _bormah_ and _monah_. It had been strange. On one hand the act was horrific and numbing but on the other…

            There was something about being able to craft fire out of thin air, flames that could sweep across and burn and consume. Even while watching their bodies burn, a sort of sick pride I didn’t dare voice sat under my skin. The light from the fire had illuminated Tristyval’s sharp features, flashing bright against the dark. All the while I kept my thoughts at bay. _I fashioned this. I breathed out and there was_ fire.

            _Su’um._ The word whispered so quietly in the back of my mind it felt non-existent.

Even as I breathed out now, my hand clenched and unclenched rapidly as if trying to strike flint against a striker. When nothing appeared, I fumbled with my frustration. Repeating my gestures over and over again, Meeko simply watched me as he often did when I tried to work up a flame. So another breath and another flick of my fingers and then another. If anything, it kept me distracted, awake. Falling asleep would be dangerous. No matter how tempting the lull of what warmth was shared between me and my dog, I could not let my eyelids fall. I couldn’t.

            Sighing, I ran my thumb across the ridges of my fingers and then resting on the ring that fit only on my middle finger. If I allowed myself a moment of rest, would looters leave me out here naked and freezing? Maybe I would wake up in the middle of being robbed and they would assault me in more horrific ways instead. I forced myself to stop those thoughts immediately. The fear that they caused was enough to make me lose sleep for the next few nights. Rocking back and forth I kept clenching and unclenching my hand, breathing in and breathing out.

            _Don’t go to sleep. Don’t eat your store of food. Don’t succumb._

            “Stay awake,” my hushed words commanded. The wind howled louder and I hugged Meeko tighter as he licked my face with his warm, soft tongue. “Just another hour. I can make it.”

* * *

 

            There were several more sunrises and several more sunsets but we had finally made our way to the foot of a mountain range. Even after consulting my map, I couldn’t tell which direction I had headed. In both the far west and central parts of Skyrim there were mountains and caves and wilds.

            “Curse the Eights, Nines, and Tens,” I muttered to Meeko. “Skyrim is nothing _but_ mountains and wilds and gods damned snow _._ ”

            Meeko padded along happily beside me, his feet sinking into the thick snow. I grimaced as I tried wiggling my own toes. At some point they had become numb like the tips of my fingers but, unlike them, something felt off. My left foot especially. A day or so ago while crossing some water frozen over, my feet broke through the ice and I had been soaked up to about mid-shin. I hadn’t taken the time to let my boots dry or warm my feet. Silently vowing to take care of the matter as soon as I could, we continued to press forward. It wasn’t too frigid, mostly owing to the fact no bitter wind was whipping at our backs.

            The sun was setting, however, and we needed to either make camp or find shelter. Without knowing this area well, I was hesitant on settling in the outdoors. For weeks my strategy had been to either set up a shoddy lean-to and make a fire while I slept off and on fitfully or to see if there was an empty building, stay for a few days. More often than not I was left to my own devices but a few times I had been lucky enough to find unoccupied homes or stone towers left to crumble, the wilds already claiming their bones. I wasn’t thrilled with trying to make camp in this area when it offered no natural protection. One would think with all the craggy rocks jutting out from the base of the mountain that some of them would give way to cover, but there were none to be found.

            “Well, Meeko,” I sighed, shifting my bow behind my back. When my stomach growled noisily, I winced. “Unless we can find something quick, we’re going to be stuck sleeping out in the open.” Not a welcome idea. As if to agree, Meeko sat and looked up at me dutifully. “C’mon. We’ve got some sunlight still left. Let’s see if we can find something.”

            Although I wasn’t too enthusiastic about our prospects, I wasn’t willing to give up so easily. The only thing to do was round the base of the mountain, exploring every nook and recess. My general rule was to stay away from caves but if it was small enough then I wouldn’t need to worry about any large animals. If I came upon a bear, my only options were to either run or die. Not exactly _great_ options. The gods must have held some small measure of pity for me because just before the sun completely abandoned us, the entrance to some small hollow became visible.

            “Meeko,” my voice was so low that it didn’t echo much against the entrance. “Stay, boy.” Obediently, he sat and stared at me intently. Whoever he had belonged to before had trained the dog well. I could trust that when I returned, Meeko would be sitting right there and unmoving. I swung my bow out and grabbed one of my many poorly constructed arrows out of my quiver. My choice arrows had been depleted long ago, fending off wolves and unsuccessfully trying to shoot at small game like rabbits and foxes. More often than not, it would be Meeko making the final push toward the goal while I simply shepherded the animal into position.

            Now though, I was left with thin, stiff branches I had whittled down into fine points and notched at the ends so the flimsy string of my bow would steady it. They certainly weren’t effective at long range but closer, I was sure I could get off a few successful shots. Carefully, my feet shifted weight against the soft ground and the moment I heard a shuffling noise, I froze. Something was indeed in here and I couldn’t see well. Had there been sunlight, I wouldn’t have had a problem but now the dusk was too dark. Inhaling slowly and deeply, my hands fumbled as I nocked an arrow. Another scratching sound, claw upon ground.

            This was the worst part about being alone: whenever I was put on the defensive, it always worried me. What if I was seriously hurt? There would be no one to help me. Sure, I’d been scratched and nipped at by wolves and the like but I was usually able to fend them off with one good swing of a tree branch and Meeko at my back. In the dark with something unknown picking up my scent? _That_ was the sort of thing that made the hair on my neck stand on end. My left foot eased backwards slowly but as soon as my heel met the floor of the cave, something dark and snarling came flying towards me.

            I panicked. There wasn’t any point in loosing an arrow now. Instead I began smacking the creature as hard as I could with my bow, punching and swiping wildly. It made some sound that reminded me of clicking but continued to scratch and nip at my ankles. It hissed and I swiped again, kicking at it wildly. My foot finally found its side and thrust it into the nearest rock. I couldn’t celebrate my luck just yet though: another black creature clamped down on my dress while another began to gnaw at my ankles.

            “Meeko!” I screeched, still swinging my bow, kicking, stumbling backwards to get to the exit. “Gods damned—”

            My heels met with something and I felt myself lose balance, then the world began to move backwards in a whirl of dark and wind. My elbow cracked against something hard and before I could cry out, something flew over me in a flurry of fur and growling. Being a little closer to the entrance, I could barely make out what was going on: Meeko picked off what looked like a skeever and with one quick whip, snapped its neck. The rodent went limp. Scrambling to regain balance, I took one of my own feet and stomped down as hard as I could on the skeever that was chewing at Meeko’s leg. The sick crunch of bones beneath my boot felt like twigs cracking in mud. In an instant everything went quiet save for our panting.

“Well.” It suddenly felt uncomfortably hot in the cave. “It looks like we’ve got dinner.”

It took me more than couple of tries with the fire striker in the mostly dark to light the skeevers’ nest on fire; luckily the rodents were fond of making their little bundles out of material that was perfect for kindling. Once a spark found an affordable piece of brush, the fire flickered briefly before quietly roaring. Meeko accompanied me as I rushed out to gather sticks large enough to fashion a crude spit.

Within that dark hour, I was able to skin the skeevers best that I could and get most of their meat on the fire. The fire was creating enough warmth that I felt comfortable enough shedding all but one dress and the layer of Tyval’s clothes underneath and slipped off my boots. The fire didn’t provide enough light but my toes didn’t look right. Running my hands across the tips, they felt harder than the flesh should have been and looked paler than usual. My heart leapt into my throat, thinking the worst until I realized I could still feel bites of pain nip away on most of my toes. The small toe on my left foot was still numb and it looked even paler than its mates.

“That could have been bad.” I reached over to poke the skeever meat and looked over at Meeko. “My feet are kind of important.” Hopefully in a few days that one toe would stop being so stubborn.

He wagged his tail happily at me, tongue hanging outside his mouth with blood all over his muzzle.

“Well, if you wait a little bit longer, we’ll have a proper meal. Fat bastards.”

The thought of something other than plants and too-thin rabbits made my stomach growl in anticipation. I sighed, not realizing how exhausted I was. The mutt and I had been constantly on the move since Dragon Bridge, only stopping to rest when necessary and even then fitfully. 

Feeling more secure hidden away, I undid my pack fully. First I laid out the blanket I had filched, now dirty and slightly ragged at the ends. It did a good enough job but I would have given anything for a warm bed. Then there were the bottles upon bottles that I arranged on a jutting edge, sat my journal and the pocket watch and bag of useless Septims beside them.

            Meeko padded around some space close to me in circles before settling down and then finally laying his head on my feet, licking at my toes. When I shrieked at the action, laughing, he yipped at me playfully.

            “Well!” My hand gave him a quick scratch on the head. “It doesn’t help I’ve got ticklish feet, it’s your fault if I’m carrying on like a hargraven.” My grin was so wide that it almost hurt.

            He barked again and settled back down, gazing up at me.

            “We’ve gotta wait, mutt.” I poked at the meat again; it gave a little less. “I’m hungry too.”

            The sympathy must have given him a little more incentive to be patient because he didn’t make another sound until it was finished. In the mean time I dragged out the journal again and did the best I could to write out anything I had learned. Tyval had been right about keeping a record of what I learned. Making lists and crude drawings of what was safe to eat and what wasn’t became the biggest advantage. I would tick off the days, scribble every now and then.

            Once we had eaten our fill, I curled onto the top of the blanket and threw an arm around Meeko, holding him closer and breathing in the scent of wild in his fur.

* * *

 

            When a few mornings had passed, a routine had finally been established. Every day we woke up to silent cold, the fire having gone out during the night. I finally devised a way to use the thick blanket as a door of sorts, covering what I could of the entrance by shoving its edges into crevices and pushing smaller gravel into the recesses. If Meeko wasn’t chasing down a fox, I was busy climbing trees, shoving a gloved hand into squirrels’ nests and either finding a store of nuts or, if I was lucky, a squirrel. I became very proficient at breaking the necks of small animals while ignoring their desperate scratching and biting.

            The dog was too busy jumping about kicking up snow here and there. I watched him as I swung my legs back and forth, bracing myself on the large tree limb that wasn’t too far from the ground. Days like this weren’t bad with the sun shining brightly and the sky dotted with only a few clouds. Some patches of earth were even visible now but it was little surprise: soon First Seed would be here and then winter would _finally_ end.

            As Meeko continued to snap playfully at some snow, my hand traveled back up to my side. It was disturbing the way I could feel my rib cage, my fingers visibly bobbed up and down between the ridges and notches of the bone. There had been plenty of days where I hadn’t eaten and the only thing to consume was snow. The skeever meat would have run out within the first day had this been a meal at home but here in the wild I had to conserve, eating a scrap or two here and relying on leaves and other small animals to add to my diet.

            Most of my toes had benefited from a regular fire in a dry place but my small toe had gotten worse. It now felt waxy like a candle and I had lost all feeling in it. This morning I noticed that it was starting to blacken at the tip. My mind rebelled at what I’d have to do next.

            “Meeko!” I yelled, my hand cupped to my mouth. With a quick shove, I pushed off the limb and landed hard onto the ground. “C’mon! Stop playing around. We’ve got to find food.”     

            Of course, the mongrel didn’t run back immediately but instead took a moment to jump in circles a couple of times before racing around me, pawing at my feet and panting with his tail whipping wildly.

            “C’mon!” I ran my hand through my hair while another hand rested on my hip. It was hard ignoring how tangled and knotted my hair became during the day. Every night I had to spend a great deal of time undoing each strand by hand. Tying it back only helped a little and braiding it was only good for a temporary fix.

            Grabbing my bow and an arrow, I motioned Meeko to follow me. Sometimes I got lucky. Once I was able to aim correctly and shot a fox. More often than not I would just save my arrows and let Meeko chase something down. Sharing our food had become hard but we made it. We stayed out until the sun began setting orange and gold, making the snow and trees turn black and blue against the strength of its light.

            When we finally stumbled back to our makeshift home, I had a thick bundle of wood to stoke a larger fire, a large number of small plants I’d crammed into my pouch, and one stone I’d found to replace the flint I’d struck to death. As I fed Meeko a couple of scraps of meat, I tried to ignore the way he was looking thinner as well. My meal consisted of what small plants were strong enough to persevere through the snow. Lots of plants and lots of snow and nuts and small dead animals.

            One day it would be spring and the choices wouldn’t be so sparse.

            Until then I had to do something about my toe.

            Wiggling both sets of toes in front of me, I bit the inside of my cheek. My small toe was worse now, the black now past my nail.

            “Shit,” the word quietly hissed through my teeth.

            What did I know about being bit by ice?

            Nothing good, that was for certain. My parents yelling at me to bundle up or the consequences would be dire.

            “Elya!” _monah’s_ voice would ring out as I ran out the door. “It’s getting cold out! If you don’t put some shoes on, Skyrim will bite your toes off!”

            Glaring at the offending toe now, I had an idea as to what that meant. Meeko sat by the fresh fire, belly up and resting contentedly. My mind wouldn’t let me forget about my toe.

            A shiver went up my spine. “Gods.” I shook my head. “No, no, no.”

            But what would happen if I didn’t? Maybe it would become infected, start spreading to my entire foot. Something worse, like an infection in my blood that would course like wildfire through my veins. I had a knife, enough potions. For all I knew, it wouldn’t even _hurt._

            “Ok, ok.” My voice didn’t sound very steady as I tried to assure myself. Unsheathing my knife from my belt, I turned it over in my hand and admired the way the flames smoothed across the metal. “Just… just…”

            Something caught in my throat and instead of finishing the thought, my leg swung over and I contorted myself so that the blade could touch the underside of the toe. It was worse. The black was even darker and more widespread.

            My hand refused to move, even with nothing between my toe and the knife. I brought my hand up and then swung down hard. It stopped right before it could do any work.

            “Argh!” My other fist pounded at the ground. “ _Just do it already_! Stop being such a gods damned coward and do what needs to be done!”

            Meeko shot up, concerned at my shouting. Whimpering, he didn’t move closer.

            “Worry about yourself!”

            He only laid back down but kept his eyes on me.

            My hands shook, sweat dripped down my brow. Sighing, I looked away for a moment and spotted the rows of bottles, red and blue liquids shining through the thick glass.

            Hastily, I grabbed a health potion and uncorked the stop. Tearing at the hem of my dress, I ripped off a length of fabric and soaked it liberally. I poured some over the toe and then took a gulp. Once I’d wrapped my small toe and the one next to it with the fabric, I felt a little more confidant.

            Then I was back to the whole “knife against my flesh” thing. My hand refused to move though. It gripped the knife tightly enough and my arm felt strong and ready. They were just not under my control right now. My body was battling against me, refusing to let me harm myself.

            Closing my eyes tightly, I was surprised to feel a tear slide down my cheek.

            “I have to do this,” I whispered to myself, trying to convince my body that this needed to happen. “It won’t hurt. It’s numb. Just a good, hard chop.”

            It turned out I wasn’t quite as good lying to myself.

            Because it hurt.

            A lot.

            The first slice was painless but I’d forgotten about the bone.

            Foolish, stupid me.

            There was a great deal of shouting and screaming and crying but I wasn’t even present. At some point my mind shut off and my hands kept sawing and steadying my foot. And then I had to snap my bone.

            Then there was darkness.

* * *

 

            If someone had told me that I would be spending two years of my life with no one but my dog as a companion and a miserable little hole in the mountain as my home, it would have sounded like such fantasy that I would have laughed until the next era.

            Be that as it may, I did.

            Spring and summer were kinder to us. It became easier to find food. Each day that passed with warmth and food, I felt less bone underneath mine and Meeko’s flesh. Not too far from where we had made home, snow from the mountain melted down into fresh water. I learned that I had wandered so far from the roads that I was a good hour away from any regular traffic; however, I did find that a Dark Elf lived in a cottage south to us, not even thirty minutes at a good pace. Some days I would leave Meeko behind to spend the day with himself and I would camp out high in a tree, watching his house intently.

            He lived alone. Muttered to himself constantly, his eerie-sounding language unintelligible to me. Every now and then he would leave to gather supplies. Every two weeks he did so regularly and was always gone for half the day, leaving early in the morning and returning just as the sun reached its peak in sky. For two months I watched, checking the timepiece I had that I couldn’t read but began to understand well enough. Then, one day, I braved a risk.

            I waited for some time before stealing my way down past his chickens, clucking stupidly at me as I shoved the unyielding door: locked. My eyes darted around, taking in what options I had before me. The chicken coop turned out to be the only supply of something thin and metal. Untwisting the cords, I used my knife to snap off a piece and then returned to the door, using both to fiddle around with the lock.

            Tyval would have laughed. It took me more time than I would have liked to hear a satisfying click. Once inside though, I had my pick of the world it seemed: books, an alchemy table, chests filled with supplies, a spit with food. So I took what I dared, experimented with what I felt safe with. Some days I would gather my courage and play around with the alchemy table, most of my creations ending in a mess. I would take books, one at a time and return them when I came back. There were books like _The Firmament_ that taught me about the birth signs, _A Brief History of the Empire, v4_ that held information about the Empire, and others that contained stories about Dwemer and the Thief Queen, Barenziah. There were more, but I was fixated on her.

            Barenziah had been queen of Wayrest in High Rock but wielded enough power to be the queen mother of Morrowind, a land across an entire continent. Love affairs with an emperor made me blush but thoughts of her and Tiber Septim quickly blurred and the feelings that it stirred in me were frustrating, unfamiliar, and unfulfilled. Despite wanting to continue learning about her, I had to stop reading. Instead I exchanged it for _The Book of Daedra._

I would spend hours, rolling the names of unfamiliar gods in my mouth, taking big bites out of apples stolen from the elf’s cottage, juice rolling down my chin from the fruit.

            “Hermaeus Mora,” the name sounded strange in my mouth. “‘Whose sphere is scrying of the tides of Fate, of the past and future as read in the stars and heavens, and in whose dominion are the treasures of knowledge and memory.’”

            Meeko yawned wide and then went back to chewing on some stick he had grown attached to.

            “Azura, Meridia…” I scanned over to the bottom. “Legendary artifacts, huh?” Reaching over, I yanked the stick from Meeko. “I’ve got your Wabbajack!” I teased, waving it in front of him as I jump up. “Come and get it!” Running out of the entrance, the mutt stayed close on my heels.

            If there was something else I had learned, it was that the animals of the wilds didn’t care much for people. Once I learned where the territory of the wolves and bears laid, it wasn’t hard to avoid them. From time to time, I would laze about high in a tree and watch less-seasoned travelers on the road wander unsuspectingly into a wolf’s area. As soon as I would see the wolf or its pack begin stalking, I would let out a high pitched whistle. It not only distracted the wolves but put the fools on the road alert.

            Sabre cats, however, were another story. The only course of action when I even _thought_ one was lurking about was to run. But I wasn’t paying attention as we darted out between the now familiar trees and dips. Instead Meeko kept nipping good-naturedly at me as I laughed loudly, still waving the stick behind me. It wasn’t until I heard the snarl that my blood ran cold.

            Turning on a heel, I found the large cat behind us, its strong muscles rippling underneath his skin as he paced back and forth, side to side. Two large teeth protruded from his salivating mouth. Meeko shot in front of me, his haunches taut and the fur on his back raised as he met the sabre cats snarl.

            “Meeko,” I whispered so softly that it wasn’t even a word. “Don’t.”

            My hand was gripping the stick so hard that I couldn’t feel my knuckles.

            I had no control over the flurry of fur and claw that tumbled about in front of me. Meeko lunged for the throat while the cat swiped a large paw. It jarred him but his jaws were clamped tight. They were so quick that it all happened within the blink of an eye.

            I might have screamed but when Meeko’s neck got caught by the cat and then flung his body, it was as if something inside me snapped. The instant the sabre cat glanced over to evaluate its work, I lunged. My aim couldn’t have been any more perfect as I sunk the piece of wood into its eye. It tried to chomp at me but caught only fabric, swiped at me but I was too fueled on anger to be moved. My arm was steel, my hand a rock. And then the cat went still.

            I stood there for a long time not looking at either animal, instead focusing my attention on the blood on my hand and running down my arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you remember in Rook of Skyrim, Teldryn mentions that he dares not ask Rook about a missing small toe? Good call on his part. I bet she doesn't like to be reminded about this part of her life. There's lots going on here. Rook's survival skills, her ingenuity, and her sheer stubbornness to succumb are things that she's born with. This is just who she is. Unfortunately, this also leads to casualties. She mentions this in RoS when she talks about pushing people away, having too many die because of her. Meeko is the first in a long line of soon-to-come casualties.
> 
> I guess an interesting question comes up: is Elya's life a series of unfortunate events that have sadly and serendipitously prepared her for being the Dragonborn or is it just that the Dragonborn is star-blessed and star-cursed, quite literally? She's always been the Dragonborn--notice the way Dragon language is slipped into her vocabulary, the way she accesses magic far beyond her skill by quietly listening to the soul inside of her. Good talking points.
> 
> I'm really sorry for skimping out on the specific thank yous again but I'm super swamped with school right now and need to get back to work. A big thanks to all of you who've let kudos on Relentless and Rook of Skyrim. I really enjoy seeing people read my things and I'm happy that I can make you happy! Er... well, um, as happy as the end of RoS can make anyway. And none of the chapters in Relentless have been particularly happy... oh, well! I hope you're enjoying it anyway!
> 
> Next chapter? We'll meet Pavo Cartia. He's mentioned once in Rook of Skyrim. Thanks for reading! -Ash


	5. Arc 0: Chapter 5

If anything, I ate well for at least a week. I kept the big cat’s pelt but couldn’t bear to do the same with Meeko’s. Once the meat from his bones had been picked clean, I buried all the rest; there was no point in putting up a marker, any sign that a creature laid there. Instead I spent dark, candle-lit days in my little hole in the mountain, chewing slowly on the charred remains of both animals. One of the journals I’d taken from the elf in the cottage—who, over the years, I had learned was named Drelas—was becoming full. The last words I was able to scribble down before light left were:

_Meeko, beloved friend, died: Second Seed, 188 4E_

            Closing the book, I sighed and placed it with the two others I’d filled in my time here. Now I found myself alone again. The low flame from my small fire pit glinted against the empty or half-full bottles of potions on a jutting edge. Every now and then I’d take out the bag of gold coins I’d stolen about two years ago and count them, sliding the Septims one by one to the side and thinking about what I’d do if I had more money. It was a game I played with Meeko more than once.

            Laying on my back, one leg crossed over the other and lazily kicking into the air, I’d ask, “What do you think? One house? Two?” He wouldn’t respond except for a disinterested yawn.

The Septim would dance between my fingers as I fantasized about all the food I could eat. More than once drool threatened to roll down my chin thinking about rich mutton legs and steaming potatoes. “New clothes,” I’d whisper. “My own books.”

            Now I couldn’t even be bothered to even look at the small sack. Every little thing that Meeko had left his mark on brought me to tears. There was the small corner that I’d padded with skeever furs and leaves that he’d often lay in at night. By the fire the mutt would often gnaw on a favored stick—it now lay battered and chewed but alone. I hurled it out of the cave the moment it made me think of him. Any little thing that made me think of Meeko, I ripped out of our home, tossed it out into the wilds.

Once all my tears were spent and my energy depleted, I still had to go through the motions. Each morning I woke up, hunted what I could and often hauled myself up into the tall trees so that I could watch the roads. Part of me wanted nothing more than to move on but, to be honest, I was too afraid. Being on my own in the wilds for so long, I’d become comfortable not having to answer to anyone, deal with anything. I _liked_ being able to do what I wanted, when I wanted. True, it wasn’t the easiest of lives. There were times I sorely missed sleeping in later than I should and having _monah_ kiss me awake, Tyval behind her threatening to pull my hair.

But this was fine. I was fine.

Two weeks later I was still trying to convince myself that all was well. Surely after two years of living with just Meeko, I’d be fine by myself.

Being convincing turned out to be one talent that I hadn’t honed yet.

* * *

 

            “Akatosh, ‘whose perch from Eternity allowed the day,’” I mumbled to myself, trying to remember some choice passages from a book I had read. With a full belly, I was lounging in a tree that overlooked the road, my cheek squished up against it. Swinging my legs aimlessly I sighed. “My perch from this tree is going to allow me to die of boredom.” Absentmindedly, I unsheathed my dagger from its home on my belt and cleaned the thick layer of dirt from underneath my uneven fingernails.

            My stomach felt empty but my mind wasn’t in the place to eat. It was much easier staring at the empty road tucked in between the expanse of the woods; the beaten path held the only promise of seeing the outside world. This hadn’t been the first time I’d wondered what it’d be like to just find the nearest village or city and settle there. But something nagged at me. Something about staying in the wilds felt… _right_. Except now that I was alone and every chirp, every rustling leaf sounded louder in light of all the silence.

            Just as Tyval and Meeko crossed my mind, something roused my attention: the unmistakable lilt of whistling. My breathing stopped. It wasn’t terribly rare to find a few people wandering about but usually they had their carts and horses. This sounded like someone alone. I stood up on the thick branch I had settled on and waited for the whistler to amble by.  

            It didn’t take long before a gangly young man came into sight. Sauntering by he seemed not to have a care in the world, hands clasped behind his back and glancing around. A well-worn pack seemed to be the only thing he carried. As the young whistler continued to pass by, my feet carefully shifted to keep him in focus. I must have moved too far because the branch cracked underneath my weight. He stopped in his tracks. I froze. When his feet carried him back closer to me, I could see him squinting into the trees, trying to find the source.

            He smiled widely. “I might just be talking to the leaves, but I could have _sworn_ I heard something.”

            I held my breath.

            Stretching his arms out wide over his head, he yawned. “I must be going mad. Not even been two days out here and I’m starting to hear things,” he mumbled to himself.

            Maybe it was the loneliness. Maybe I had gone mad living out in the wilds for a couple of years with only a dog to keep me company. Maybe I didn’t know what to do but needed to change something, _anything_.

            Just as he began walking away again, I whistled something low and unsure. His head snapped toward the sound and a ridiculous smirk swiped across his mouth.

            “Ah ha! I knew it wasn’t just my imagination!” Dropping his backpack to the ground, he ran a hand through his messy, dark brown hair. “Well, come on now! I look absolutely insane talking to myself out here.”

            Swinging off confidently, my boots caught on something and I tripped forward as I landed. I straightened myself quickly and cleared my throat. “Alright, then.”

            His eyes widened and he took a step back, holding his hands up defensively. “Mind putting away that dagger?”

            I shook my head. “Never know when someone or something might kill you out here.”

            Shrugging, he held out a hand in greeting. “True enough, I s’pose. Pavo Cartia.”

            I considered him for a moment. His pants were frayed at the end and there was a patch messily stitched over a knee. The shirt he wore, however, was a dark shade of red and didn’t seem to have one stray string hanging from its edges. With his lightly tanned skin and a dash of freckles across his nose, the color looked quite nice on him.

            Slipping the dagger back in its sheath, I cautiously gave him my hand and shook. “Elya.”

            He looked amused. “Just Elya? Elya the wild girl, huh?”

            I yanked my hand back, almost regretting showing myself. I didn’t give him a reply to that.         

            Pavo rolled his eyes. “Tough girl then, I presume. Guess you gotta be out here.” Glancing back up at the tree, he nodded toward it. “So what _are_ you doing out here all alone?”

            My nose scrunched up in suspicion. “I could ask the same thing about you. You aren’t a merchant or the usual types that pass through this way.”

            Crossing his arms, he cocked a smile at me. “Just walking. Why? These your woods?”

            I nearly slapped the smug look from his face. “Are you always so annoying?”

            “Only when I’m trying to convince a wild girl with a dagger that I’m not a threat.” He raised an eyebrow. “Maybe it would help if I told you that you were pretty?”

            The blood rushed so quickly to my face that I felt a little faint. “Who in Oblivion _asked you_? I quickly shot back, rubbing the back of my neck and looking away.

            He laughed heartily at that, playfully slapping my arm. “Gods, I didn’t ask you for your maidenhood.”

            My eyes widened and I swung my fist hard into his chest. He kept laughing but coughed and curled into himself a little. “You bastard!” I almost punched him again. Instead I stared at him as he waved at me to shut up so he could catch his breath. When he finally did, there were tears in his eyes. My mouth set straight and firm, I growled at him, “Just what in _Oblivion_ is so funny?”

            “You!” Pavo grinned. “Look at you, dressed like a man, braided hair all frazzled and dirt smudged on your face and you’re blushing at the silliest things.”

            Without thinking I started wiping my face quickly and smoothed down my loosely braided hair. I could feel some escaped strands working my fingers down. “Well, I… uh…” I shook my head. “If you’re going then begone. I’ve got dinner to catch.”

            But just as I went to walk away, I felt Pavo’s hand grab my arm. Just as I was about to threaten him with my dagger again, he smiled that disarming smile again and offered, “Dinner’s on me?” Pavo motioned to his pack.

            It was a tempting offer. I didn’t feel like hunting and turning down a free meal would have been lunacy. Relaxing my pull against him, his grip loosened a bit. “ _Fine_ , but if you so much as look at me the wrong way, I’ll gut you.”

            Pavo rolled his eyes again. “I get the feeling there’s not a _right_ way to look at you.” Raising his eyebrows in question, he waited for me to answer. When I didn’t, he continued. “I’ve seen a lot of people but there’s no mistaking a Nord. You aren’t it.”

            “ _No_.” I pulled my arm from his grasp and began to stomp toward home. “Neither are you. Don’t see the point in bringing it up.” I jumped over a large root, kicked some dust up.

            “Maybe—oof!” Pavo must have hit his foot on something but with him behind me I couldn’t care less. “Maybe I’m trying to make pleasant conversation. Not every day I find a girl in the wilds ready to slit my throat. Truly a wonder.”

            I snorted at that. “ _Truly_.” My feet had walked the way back to my makeshift home so many times I didn’t even have to think about where I was going. Looking back briefly, I saw him still grinning. “You still haven’t told me what you’re doing out here.”

            “Just traveling, making my way down Skyrim.” Within a few moments he’d caught up with me, now striding beside me. “What about you?”

            “I live here,” I replied bluntly.

            “Up in the trees like a bird, then?” he joked.

            I pointed to my home. “No, over there.”

* * *

 

            It was strange having someone sitting by my fire, chatting with me and asking me questions. Pavo explained to me while sipping a bottle of cheap ale that he didn’t have a home either—well, none that tied him down anyway. He was from somewhere called Chorrol and his father was a merchant who ran around Hammerfell. Pavo said that his father practically lived there.

            “Yep.” He leaned back, stretching his legs out so they weren’t crossed any more. “I just come and go as I please around Skyrim and Cyrodiil. Make my way by taking what I need here and there.”

            Throwing back a bottle myself, I relished the taste of something familiar. Pavo didn’t have a lot in the way of food, but at least I didn’t have to go hunting tonight. Thick wedges of cheese, apples, and ale would suffice. I took a large bite of apple. “Sho yer jus walkin’ ‘round?”

            He smirked. “Better than living in a cave.” Motioning to my living space, I looked around at my ragged books, my collection of bottles, and a pile of poorly tanned pelts. “You and I have probably seen the same number of seasons. I thought only the Nords did crazy stuff like live in the woods.”

            I hadn’t decided whether to trust him or not. Sure, the food was good but that didn’t require me to tell him everything. “Just living out here,” I replied. “What? You don’t expect a Breton to be able to survive out here?”

            Pavo shrugged and yawned. “I just don’t think living in a cave would be comfortable is all. Of course, I’m partial to staying in inns myself.”

            “ _Inns_?” I blurted out. “There isn’t an inn around here for days. Where in Oblivion do you stay when you come across _that_ problem?”

            He had a habit of smiling too much. “Find a nice girl with a nice cave to offer me a place to stay?”

            I rolled my eyes. “Well, you don’t dance around the issue, do you?”

            “Would you?”

            I bit the inside of my cheek, giving the idea some consideration. If he planned to attack me, steal from me, doing so while I slept would be the ideal time. It was hard to imagine Pavo Cartia acting like that though with his easy-going demeanor and lazy smirk. I’d sooner believe that he was an elf.

            Throwing up my hands, I groaned. “ _Fine_. But I warn you, I’ve killed a sabre cat before. Don’t think I won’t have any qualms about killing _you_ if you even _think_ of trying anything.”

            Pavo chuckled, reached into his pack, and tossed me another apple. “You should learn to be a little more trusting. Why on Nirn would I waste my food on you if I was planning on doing that?”

            He had a point. Taking a bite of the new apple, its juice ran down my chin. “True enough.” Now, Pavo smirked at me and stared at me expectantly, eyebrows raised. “What? I already said you could stay.”

            He yawned again and then tossed the core of his own apple into the fire. It burned brightly for a moment but then fizzled back down to its warm glow. “You should think about coming with me. Must get lonely out here all by yourself. Even _I_ meet people along the way. But you? Gods damn, I can’t imagine you _like_ being here all alone.”

            The thought struck me and made me flinch a little at hearing it out loud. I began to study the apple intently, turning it around in my hands and rubbing at the skin. “I’m fine,” the words quickly tumbled out of my mouth quietly. My head snapped up and I frowned, “And my life is of no concern of yours. You asked to stay the night and here you are. Stop prying.”

            Pavo shrugged. “Suit yourself. Now, you have a cozy pelt for me to roll into? It’s been a long day and I’m exhausted.”

            He wasn’t lying—I was impressed the way he immediately fell asleep once I gave him a bedroll I’d stolen. With my knees pulled up to my chest, I watched Pavo intently. There was no way in Oblivion I would close my eyes with him around. Sharing supper together was no reason to trust him. Well, maybe _part_ of me bought his little story. Even watching his steady breathing, I could feel my eyelids growing heavier.

            “Stop it,” I muttered to myself. “Don’t take your eyes off of him.”

            But within moments, sleep took over.

* * *

 

            Waking up with a start, I was pleasantly surprised to find myself unharmed and none of my things stolen. Pavo Cartia was nowhere to be found, his cold bedroll the only thing left that gave any hint that someone other than me had been here overnight. The feeling of loneliness that had been taking root in my belly was beginning to make itself known again. As mad as it sounded, I kind of _missed_ Pavo. I’d forgotten how much I missed simply talking to someone.

            But I couldn’t allow the temporary break in my routine to cloud my head. There was the day’s food to search and hunt for, a couple of things I needed to filch some supplies from Drelas. So, my day went on like it had for two years: first a trip to the spot in the mountain where the small creek ran to quickly bathe, unbraiding and rebraiding my hair, equipping myself with my dagger and my poorly maintained bow and shoddy arrows. My preferred hunting ground lay more than a few paces from my home so once I’d returned with two dead rabbits swinging my their ears, the sun was past midday.

            Pavo Cartia stayed in my mind though, the way he lazily sat back with that stupid grin on his face like nothing in Mundus could ever ruffle his composure. But it was also his light eyes and freckle-dusted face that made my heart race a little. The idea of leaving and not being alone anymore held so much promise that if I dwelled on it for too long then I would lose my breath. Even as I squatted on the branch of a tree overlooking the dunmer’s cottage, my mind involuntarily wandered to ideas of sleeping on a bed and drinking more cheap ale.

            “Or milk,” my voice carried to the wind. “Gods, I can’t believe I miss _milk_.”

            When I was satisfied that Drelas was gone, I swung down and made my way to the familiar door but just when I ducked down to pick the lock my heart stopped when I realized the door was _already unlocked_.           

            “Shit. Shit shit shit.” I stepped back. My mind raced. There was no way on Nirn that Drelas was here. But, sure enough, when I placed my ear next to the door I heard rustling and mumbling from the other side. Just when I was about to turn tail and run, the door swung open.

            “Well, if it isn’t Elya the wild girl.” Pavo’s grinning face met my shocked one.

            “ _Pavo_?” In one of his hands, he held a gem while the other waved sheepishly at me. “What in the world?”

            Rolling his eyes, he sauntered back into the cottage. From behind I heard him say, “So _this_ is what the wild girl does when she isn’t hiding in a cave.”

            Quietly shutting the door behind me, I hissed, “Are you _mad_? Drelas is a mage. What if you’d stumbled in here to find him, hmm?”

            Pavo’s hand traveled along the spines of books on the bookcase, whistling something happy. “I figured he was a mage but I wasn’t too concerned. I guess the worst that could have happened was my clothes would catch on fire as I hauled my arse out of here.”

            Crossing my arms, I raised an eyebrow. “Your _clothes_? Try your _face_. Fire magic isn’t anything to fool with.”

            He looked over his shoulder and smiled. “Sounds like you know something about that.” Then he resumed whistling and held his hands behind his back, still leisurely looking around. “Your concern is touching, though.”

            Stomping towards him, I yanked his arm and pulled him back, slipping the gem out of his palm. “ _Leave_. Drelas isn’t going to miss a few things here and there. I’ve been doing it for two years. But if you go around taking things he’s bound to miss, you’re going to make my life a _lot_ harder.”

            “Ooooooh.” Pavo didn’t pull his arm back but instead winked at me. “I’ve got the measure of this now. You aren’t really worried about _me_.”

            Rolling my eyes, I huffed as my arm tugged against him. “Has anyone ever told you you’re annoying?”

            Pursing his lips, Pavo acted like he was giving the question some serious thought. “Never.” Then he started counting on his fingers. “Charming, funny, handsome, yes. Annoying? No.”

            Against my own will I felt a smile break across my face. “There is just no getting through to you, is there?”

            Waving me off, Pavo continued glancing at Drelas’s possessions. “Nope, this is it.” He snatched a grape from the table and popped it into his mouth. “But I think you and me,” he waved his finger between us, “We’re the same. Both thieves, both on our own.” He popped another grape into his mouth. “I bet you’d be great at my type of work.”

            Before I could protest, my mouth answered, “Your type of work?”

            Pavo Cartia winked at me and grinned that stupid grin of his. “So, you ready to give up being Elya the wild girl?”

* * *

 

            We traveled from Cyrodiil to parts of Skyrim but mostly we stayed on the empty roads, coming and going from small inns to unsuspecting but welcoming farm families who gave us shelter and food. Pavo had the silver tongue and I had the quick hands.

            “You’re being reckless,” Pavo taught me in the beginning. “Slow and steady and quiet. That’s all you need to pick someone’s pocket. I distract them and you just let your fingers work.”

            In Bruma, we pretended we were married and that I was pregnant with my first child. Things got a little messy when the family we were staying with found out otherwise. Well, that and the fact we’d been silently taking their Septims from them for about two months. I’d never ran that fast in my life. Pavo was laughing the entire time as we made our way to the gates that led into Skyrim.

            We did this for about two years. Another two years of my life spent aimlessly wandering around, surviving with no purpose other than to live. Sometimes Pavo was fine with settling down in the wilds for a period. One of his favorite places was by Lake Illinalta.

            “The water calls to me,” he’d sing out with his arms stretched wide. “I was born by water.”

            Pavo Cartia was smooth-talking, charismatic. It was hard not to be drawn into his words—his wide grin and good-looks were convincing all on their own. When I finally let him take my maidenhood, he reminded me of the first time we met.

            “You remember that, right?” His voice made my skin prickle with gooseflesh.

            “Shut up,” I playfully hit him. “I thought you said you were going to make me _sing_.”

            We’d sit up a night talking about anything, everything.

            “My father,” the word always felt strange on my tongue. “He tried teaching me magic but I wasn’t quite talented at it.”

            “Magic?” He whistled. “Well, you do look like the more Merish of Bretons. I’d bet if you traipsed over to the College of Winterhold, they’d take you in a heartbeat. I hear they take anyone with any sliver of promise to magic.”

            I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “I’d rather steal someone else’s money. I think there’s a special kind of magic to be found in a warm bed.” My thumb ran over the ring I stole long ago from the inn at Dragon Bridge. I’d spent all the Septims but kept the ring. “Besides, magic is for Mer. I’m a Man.”

            Maybe I was in love with him. He was clever and liked talking to me. More importantly, he never pried. Pavo was good at letting me just give him everything. It was hard not to. Talking had never been a strong point of mine but he made it so _easy_. When I would go on about the strange way some weird words fall on my tongue, he didn’t laugh but just nodded solemnly.

            “Definitely magic,” he would assert, slipping me a sweet roll. “Just think about what a good thief you could be if you learned to become invisible on a whim.”

            When I left my hole in the mountain, I kept only a few of my journals. Most of the knowledge I now kept in my mind. There was a book or two, my timepiece, and a couple of other items. Everything else I’d left behind. Pavo told me, “You won’t need any of those items the wild girl used.” He smiled and asked, “Don’t tell me you’re attached to that place.”

            Sometimes it was hard to tell if I was. Certainly I liked having a close friend and someone to talk to. But sometimes, _sometimes_ , I missed the wilds. Whenever we would travel back to Skyrim, it always felt more like home to me than anything else.

            Then, one day, we were in the Rift. It wasn’t my favorite hold and Pavo always avoided Riften. “It’s the home of _real_ thieves, the kind who’d eat us alive,” he’d comment. Maybe that’s why he was in such a foul mood; the last week or so I’d noticed he’d grown quieter, didn’t really care to listen to me as much as he used to. A few nights I’d be left alone while Pavo wandered off and wouldn’t explain his actions. But we were close to the Rift. Neither of us had fond experiences here. I just assumed it was the foul memories that were causing him to act so withdrawn.

            We were walking along the roads, both of us with our well-worn packs on our backs when we heard the familiar sounds of footsteps approaching us. Pavo held up two fingers on his right hand to signal me and I silently nodded, rushed off to the edge of the woods. The clanking of armor became louder and a Rift guard soon appeared.

            From behind the brush I heard Pavo engage the guard in the usual way.

            “Good day! Lovely here in the Rift, I’ve never been and need directions.” The years had only made Pavo taller, leaner, more handsome. His messy dark hair was choppy from where I’d shoddily cut it for him with my dagger. He still had freckles although they were darker now.

            As they chatted, I crept up from behind, one foot in front of the other soft and gentle. Even though my eyes watched Pavo, Pavo didn’t dare look back at me. Any stray glance could arouse suspicion. The guard kept pointing behind Pavo and I was so close to the guard’s pouch that if I stretched out that I could touch him. This was so routine that I could have done it in my sleep.

            Until Pavo’s eyes shifted to where I was and my stomach dropped. In a flash I realized that I should have seen this coming. His mood. His lack of conversation. His walks alone. Stupid Elya. All of these years I’d held onto a foolish belief that we were partners. But thieves weren’t to be trusted. Especially those who played on the heartstrings like a lyre.

            It all happened so quickly that I couldn’t keep track of what was going on. All at once Pavo yelled, “THIEF!” The guard spun around, and I froze. There wasn’t enough time in the world to describe my confusion at that moment. My wrist was locked by the guard’s strong hand practically holding me up but then I saw Pavo rushing toward me. Before I could even bring my arm up to push him back, his arm flew upwards.

            Both Pavo and I carried daggers. They were our only weapons—he argued against me carrying a bow everywhere with a quiver full of arrows to avoid suspicion. Now I wished we carried nothing at all. His dagger slashed upwards and the next thing I knew my field of vision on my left was filled with searing pain and red. Maybe he hadn’t meant to _actually_ strike me, but the dagger sliced and I screamed.

            The guard was probably as ill-prepared for the flurry of force that overcame me as much as I was. I didn’t even know I was _capable_ of such blind fury but one moment I was screaming in pain and the next I had ripped from the guard’s grasp and was on top of Pavo, beating him senseless.

            “You _fucking_ bastard!” My fist flew into his nose and, even though my knuckles ached, I was pleased to hear something crack underneath them. “You _gods damned_ —”

            The guard yanked me off, yelling something I wasn’t paying attention to. Pavo was screaming something as well but the only thing I felt was pain and rage. The only thing keeping him alive at the moment was the Rift guard who, at this point, had become a less of a threat and more of a mediator.

            “ _Bitch!”_ Pavo spit at me, stumbling to his feet. The back of his hand wiped his mouth and he spit out a tooth. Breathing in and out of his mouth, I noticed it was one of his two front teeth. No longer would his grin be so charming or persuasive.

            “Enough!” the guard yelled at both of us. “You,” he pointed to Pavo, “I suggest you get out of here before the young lady beats your arse into the ground. You’re coming with me,” he yanked at me and my heels dragged against the dirt.

            Pavo gave me one last inscrutable look as I was being pulled away and he slithered off to wherever he was going. He wasn’t smiling and all I can remember was me snarling, threatening to cut his balls off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, life isn't kind and sometimes if your dog dies in an unfortunate way, best not to let the meat go to waste. A bit horrifying but at least Elya isn't eating people--she never gets involved with Namira for this exact reason. And Pavo. What do you guys think about him now that he's come and gone? He's mentioned by name in chapter 8 of RoS (Equivalent Retaliation) and you'll notice if you go back to that section, Rook's memory isn't quite spot on all the time. But the big details are the same.
> 
> Again, I'll have to skimp out on the thank you section for everyone specifically because school has me running around like wild. It takes a lot of time to go back through all the kudos and make sure I've gotten everyone. But I appreciate all of you greatly! Comments are much easier to track because I know it takes a lot of time to send something off--but a special thanks to EroSlackerMicha! I really do value all of my readers taking extra time to let me know what your experience for each chapter is!
> 
> So, next chapter? We flash forward to events in Leading the Blind! That's right, Relentless is one big flashback story that Rook is telling to her brother-- who is, surprise, alive. Some clever readers have already figured out who he is so hopefully that'll be a bit of a treat for you. Between each arc, there's a flashforward chapter. Thanks for reading! -Ash


	6. Rook and Raven I

            My brother doesn’t say a word to me, can’t even look me in the eye.

            “That…” he just keeps looking down into his ale as if it has the words he can’t find. Finally, his eyes steal a glance at me from under a hooded glance. “I am _so_ sorry.” Tyval’s apology is so quiet I thought I imagined it. But then he adds, “I can never make that right.”

            Luckily, drunkenness had already rendered me numb. “Ha! Like I needed _you_.” I gave his cup a shove with my own bottle. My other arm was draped across the back of my chair and I was slumped lazily in it. Tucked away in the corner of the bar, there was no way anyone had overheard my story so far. Last thing I needed was for Teldryn, Sissel, or Belwen to interrupt me every five seconds. This was between me and my brother. We’d already fought, yelled, and cried. At times it grew violent with fists and magic. Other times it had grown so quiet, the din of the dead was deafening. But both of us had spent our emotions in full—all that remained was us, a brother and a sister.

            Tyval gave me a weary look and pushed his shoulder length hair back. Left untied, it was the spitting image of my own unruly, dark locks. “Yes, but I’m sure you didn’t tell me _everything_.”

            “Why? You’d like to know what I did every day for almost four years? I can’t even remember all of that.”

            It had been sixteen years since we’d last seen one another yet we were still falling into our own habits. Tristyval would sigh and bite his tongue, bottling up small bits of emotion here and there. I’d snap at him, getting frustrated at his silence. Being drunk helped. _A lot._ I tapped my finger against my bottle, staring at the sweat forming on the outside.

            Tyval finally forced a smile onto his face and took another sip. “Gods. So Meeko died not long after I brought him home. Damn shame.”

            “Damn mutt,” I laughed dryly. When I went to rub my thumb across my fingers, I remembered that I didn’t have my ring on. Again. Every time I did, my mind wandered back to Solstheim and Vahlok’s tomb. That only made the prospect of leaving my brother even more unbearable. Once I was done here, I’d have to finally face _him_.

            Damn mercenary.

            Teldryn and I had exchanged meaningless words since meeting again, but I had refused sit down to talk with him about…

            …well, everything that had transpired.

            Then there was silence again. What was there to say to one another? Nothing but empty apologies and useless regret and hollow bitterness. Tyval must have shared my thoughts because he simply shook his head.

            “This is so strange,” he muttered. “I thought you were dead. All these years I was sure I’d left you to die out there, waiting for me.” His voice hitched and he coughed. Once he regained his voice, my brother continued. “Well, not until last year that is.”

            I’d heard Paarthurnax call Alduin his brother but it wasn’t until I saw mine again that the word finally became mine. _Zeymah._ There was so much I wanted to ask Tyval, make him explain. _Tell me_ , I wanted to demand, _when you met Neloth last year did you know it was your_ briinah _? Did you run back to Cyrodiil on purpose? Had you really no idea that the Dragonborn was your sister? Did Neloth tell you nothing about the woman who looked like your twin?_

What a foolish idea—Neloth worrying about anyone about himself.

 _Zeymah’s_ voice broke through my thoughts, “But you joined the College in Skyrim. Was that before or after you knew about…” he didn’t have to finish his sentence.

            Shaking my head, I took another swig. “Oh, much, _much_ earlier. Although there were some things I ignored, pushed to the back of my mind because I was afraid.”      

            Tyval raised his eyebrows and gave me a weak smile. “And I guess you’re going to tell me about becoming a mage now?”

            The frown that crossed my face was less sad than it was disappointed. My palms weren’t newly pressed but I could feel my magicka links burn along my flesh as if I’d taken my words yesterday, become part of the College only last night.

            “Well, since you asked.”

            And I tried to remember exactly what happened all those years ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To give you all some orientation, these chapters are about 1/3 of the way into Leading the Blind so Relentless is one big story that Rook is telling her brother. You'll notice some familiar names (Teldryn and Neloth), a familiar name if you're really into Skyrim (Sissel), and one name who is a bit of a mystery at the moment (Belwen--I won't reveal her last name just yet). You might notice Rook and Raven chapters aren't quite as long. Some will be longer than this but they are mostly meant to be teasers for LtB and to set up what Relentless is.
> 
> I've been thinking about how to devote my time writing since HEP is a bit involved. Raven's Song only updates when an arc in Relentless ends so, at the moment, Relentless is something I'm trying to push out weekly. I have a few drafted chapters of Leading the Blind but it is still in the rough stages of plot outlining. So, at most, I'd have about seven weeks of material to post for LtB. Eh, I'll figure it out--school is just so time-consuming!
> 
> Okay, no more being lazy! Thanks to some lovely guests for kudos as well as Lyraine (a reader from RoS!). Super duper thanks goes out to EroSlackerMica and TheLastDovah for your kind words! I love hearing from my readers! I understand it takes time to form coherent thoughts and type them out so I really appreciate it!
> 
> So, next update will be a new chapter to Raven's Song and then Relentless will update picking right where we left off--some Rift Hold guard dragging her poor, bloody body away from Pavo. Will she make it to Riften? I guess we'll see! Thanks for reading! -Ash


	7. Arc I: Chapter 1

The guard’s name was Falk and he had an annoying habit of mumbling to himself. Once, I made the mistake of thinking he was talking to me but when I answered, Falk just glared. Not long after we’d left Pavo, one of his large, gloved hands shoved a mostly-clean rag into my hand. I’d had it pressed against my eye for a while, when I suddenly came to the realization that I still had my sight. Granted, the thing still hurt like Oblivion had bit me, but I could see.

            Falk led me back to a small encampment with only one tent, a small fire, and a small crate of supplies. “Sit,” he gruffed, squatting down as he rummaged through it loudly. “Can’t believe I’m doing this,” he muttered to himself.

            My hand was numb from pressing the rag against my eye for so long. Listening to Falk curse quietly, I began tapping my foot and finally mumbled, “Thanks.”

            When he came up again, he turned to me and held out his hand. “Give it,” the guard ignored my appreciation. “I ain’t wasting good potion on you,” he took the bottle in his other hand and poured it over the bloodied rag. “But this should do ya.”

            The instant I padded the cut with the soaked cloth, I hissed.

            Falk rolled his eyes. “Of course it’s gonna hurt, girl. One nasty cut you’ve got there. You’re lucky ya still’ve got your eye.” But he sat beside me, his forearms resting against his spread open legs. The guard let out a heavy sigh and his shoulders slumped with it. “Gods damn, what’s a young girl like you runnin’ ‘round in the Rift for anyway?”

            It hurts to roll my freshly-injured eye. “I’ve seen eighteen seasons. I can do what I please.”

            He looked up at me and cocked his frown to one side. “You should go home, let your parents take care of you for a little while.”

            “My parents are dead,” I state flatly. “The wilds are my home.” Gingerly I remove the rag from my eye and my hand pats the open wound softly. It’s long, gaping. “Besides, I don’t need to be taken care of. My eye’s fine.”

            The Nord shrugged and set off to rummaging through his supplies again. From his work I could hear him talking, “You’re lucky I’m not arresting you. Though I didn’t hear you coming at all. Pretty light-footed, you are.”

            Not responding, I sat there and observed him putting together a spit to go over his fire. Falk had some small dead animals thrust onto a sharpened stick. He’d pop in and out of his tent to grab something but, save for a few grunts, he wasn’t chatty. All the better. I was too focused on the way my nerves felt rattled—Pavo’s betrayal and my injury. Too much happening in such a short period and, once again, my life was upheaved.

            I’d grabbed my knapsack as the guard had dragged me off but there wasn’t anything in there for me at the moment. Falk might have accepted some gold but if he was helping me already, I would rather not waste my resources. Even the food I had could be saved for later because he was shoving some of the smaller and more burnt pieces of meat toward me. Not the best of meals, but food was food.

            “How far is Riften?” I finally asked after the sun had started setting. Staying here for any extended period of time probably wasn’t anything Falk would be happy with. He was already not arresting me. I didn’t want to press his kindness or indifference.

            “Riften?” He laughed. “Girl, it might be the City of Thieves, but you wouldn’t survive a day there. Petty pickpockets wouldn’t find much to steal. That and the guards pluck easy pickings like you off the street.”

            “I don’t think I’m the next Barenziah,” I took a large bite out of a hunk of meat. “Jush need shomwhere to shtay.”

            He considered that for a moment. “Bee and Barb’s the only place Riften’s got. But you oughta stay here for the evening. It’s a good journey on foot to Riften.”

            Outdoors on a bedroll, I tossed and turned with my mind racing at what to do next. Falk slept on a comfortable cot in his tent, steadily snoring. By the time the sun rose, both of us were up and eating breakfast. My eye was swollen but my vision was more or less unaffected—it throbbed with heat but another dab of potion helped with the itching. Falk was kind enough to at least mark Riften on my map and gruffly bid me off. I still had no idea what I would do once I got there but I couldn’t wait around figuring it out.

            On the way to the town, I ripped a long strip of fabric from the cape I wore and tied it around my head and over my eye. By the time I found myself at the gates of Riften, I was probably a pitiful sight. My injured eye on top of my dirty clothes and messy braid, it was no wonder the guard at the gate eyed me suspiciously when I asked to be let in. The look he gave me caused me to feel uneasy.

            “There’s a visitor’s tax here girl.” His voice had a slight hint of smugness underneath it.

            “Tax? A tax for _what_?” I motioned toward the city wall, rolling my eyes. “Maintaining this Oblivion pit?” I couldn’t believe my luck, getting shaken down right after I’d nearly had my eye plucked out like a grape.

            He shoved me backwards. “Don’t pay the tax, then you ain’t coming in.”

            Stumbling over my feet, my arms waved while trying to keep balance. At first I thought I would make it until I tripped over something and fell hard on my back. Scrambling to my feet again, I spit at the guard who promptly unsheathed his sword. My hand instinctively went to my belt where my dagger lie but thought better about sliding it out. Instead I growled, “If you think I’m _paying_ you to get into _this_ gods forsaken city, then you’re mad.”

            “Girl,” he didn’t even sound rattled, “I suggest you wander off somewhere else.”

            Even though Riften had been my only goal at the moment, this wasn’t worth my time. I growled and stalked away—the last thing I needed to be was taken into jail. I didn’t have the power or force to wield over the guard so I was stuck outside the walls and, again, without any plan. Wandering back from where I came, a driver with a cart hailed me.

            “M’lady, where’re you heading off to?”

            I almost laughed at his address. “I… um…” Good question. I hadn’t thought much further than getting to Riften. Pavo and I usually ran around together, both of us making a decision. But now I was alone again, free to go where I pleased. Digging out my map quickly, the decision weighed heavily on me. The idea of heading back west wasn’t appealing to me and Cyrodiil would be too expensive. Suddenly my eye fell north and my mind momentarily forgot about the itching, burning pain on my face.

            “Winterhold,” the word quickly spilled out of my mouth. “That’s where the mage’s college is, right?” My stomach turned over on itself. _This_ was mad. _I_ was mad.

            The driver eyed me suspiciously. “Mage’s college? What would a young girl like you need with mages?”

            Shrugging, I began cobbling together a weak explanation. “I have relatives there. Looks like I won’t be getting into Riften right now.” It wouldn’t be strong but if he had something against mages then it’d be best to not mention my interest in joining. Now it was just a matter of if he trusted a half-blind and dirty wild girl. I might have the coin but if he thought I was a danger, I doubted that he’d take the journey.

            He didn’t press the matter further but simply said, “Name’s Sigaar. Can get you there for thirty gold.” Before I could even protest he shook his head, “Thirty.”

            Muttering to myself as I pulled out every coin, Sigaar took all the pieces and hopped onto the cart. “It’s going to be at least two days. Hope you’re up for some traveling.”

            Rolling my eyes, I just nodded. If only he knew just how much traveling I’d done in my life. A carriage ride would be a sweet relief for my aching feet covered in only the barest of shoes. The road was much too bumpy for me to get any quality sleep but we stopped for the night halfway there. The next day, we’d arrived.

* * *

 

            “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I groaned out loud.

            Whatever I had been expecting, Winterhold let me down in every way possible. My teeth wouldn’t quit chattering and every time I sighed in disappointment, my breath came out in thick clouds.    

            Winterhold might have been impressive at one point but it was a skeleton now. As I dragged through the snow down the one and only road in the town, all around me were frames of houses torn asunder and faces frozen in resigned defeat. I didn’t dare ask anyone how I might go about finding entry into the college but there was no need. The giant structure that the road led to was connected to the city by a long, cold-looking bride. It seemed as if the college was the only thing this town had left.

            Walking closer to the bridge and ignoring the few stares I received, my body surely wasn’t letting me forget that I was ill-clothed—my cloth pants and shirt had been suitable for the briskness of the south but up here? My cloak might have well been invisible. The hood of the thing only kept the cold air in around my face. Ice and snow seeped into my leather shoes and my heart dropped at the thought of my lost toe, at the possibility of losing another. I made my way much faster and found an empty, large stone awning at the beginning of the long bridge to the college. When I tried to pass through it, my face smacked into nothingness and a blue sheen rippled out from where I impacted.

            “Ow!” I winced. At first I thought the bandage around my left eye had impaired my vision such that it caused me to hit something but when I took a step back, my head shook in confusion. “…in Oblivion?” Reaching out, my fingers slid across the nothingness again and more brilliant blue ripples followed in their wake.

            This had to be some kind of joke.

            Shivering, my hands rubbed quickly against my bare arms. The sun was still out but hiding behind thick grey clouds and unrelenting flurries. How could anyone live like _this_?

            “Hey!” My fist beat against the barrier and the color shot out quicker. “ _Hey!_ Let me in! It’s freezing out here!” My shouting was deafening in the silence of the ghost town. When I turned to see if anyone could help, all that was left was a lone guard who was looking off into the distance. “Gods be damned! Let. Me. _In!_ ”

            Suddenly, a figure appeared on the bridge. Cloaked with a hood drawn up, all I could make out was a person striding lazily towards me. Whoever it was didn’t seem to think there was any rush. Now closer, the Altmer stood tall and long in front of me. Her long fingers gracefully slid her hood back.

            She regarded me cautiously. “Cross the bridge at your own peril,” she laughed dryly. Then more seriously she added, “The way is dangerous and the gate will not open. You shall _not_ gain entry.”

            That was certainly going to put a damper on things.

            “If I can’t get in, then what in Oblivion does the condition of the bridge matter?” When I raised my brows, I could feel only my right one respond. “Besides, I’d like to join.” I couldn’t think of a clever enough lie even if I tried. The cold sapped all the energy from me, physically and mentally.

            She frowned, her golden skin dimmed by the cold and ice around us. Another second later and the elf slowly nodded. “Perhaps.” Her eyes narrowed further. “But what is it you expect to find within?”

            Oblivion if I knew. At this point, I just wanted to get out of the cold. I had not properly dressed for the trip north. “I just want to see what it looks like inside?” I offered.

            She smiled while cocking one brow up. “Ha! Humor is often in short supply here but…” the smile eased slightly and her arms crossed. “I sense you’re after more than that. So, the question now is what can _you_ offer the College?” Her feet took short paces back and forth, hands clasped behind her back, thinking. “You see, not just anyone is allowed inside.” I watched her eyes study me. “Especially someone who looks like they’ve just crawled out of sewers.”

            Scrunching my nose, I spit back, “I’ll have you know my father taught me spells. He said I had talent.” I simply omitted the part that I didn’t have _much_. “Watch.” I adjusted the bandage around my head before snapping my fingers and producing a candle. “See?” It shone brightly in the grey and cold between us, illuminating her bemused smile.

            “My, are you sure you shouldn’t be joining the Bard’s College? I’m sure they could use someone with your wit.” Pursing her lips, she continued, “But those wishing to enter _our_ college must show some degree of skill with magic beyond simple tricks.” When I frowned, the Altmer gave me a skeptical look. “A small test, if you will.”       

            _Great_. Sucking in more frigid air through my lips, something like, “What kind of test?” passed through my chattering teeth.

            “Well…” A slender finger tapped against her lips. “Something a bit more impressive than a candle. Surely you’d be able to show off a mage’s light then.”        

            “I don’t even know what that _is_.”

            “Well, that’s certainly disappointing,” the woman mused and began thinking aloud. “Is that all you can do? Nothing that takes a little more skill, perhaps an atronach?”

            Shaking my head, my heart dropped. I hadn’t used any magic besides my candle in so long that I feared that maybe I’d lost whatever link I had to it.

            The elf continued to talk. “A healing spell? No, you don’t seem like a healer and with that bandage I doubt you could do even the most basic of spells. My instinct is telling me that illusion magic isn’t quite your suit either though…” Suddenly, she snapped her fingers. “Show me _fire_.”

            Widening my eyes, body-numbing cold was overtaken by sudden surprise. “Fire?” Flames I had burnt my parents with. Life and breath in one sigh. I’d not been successful in my previous attempts years and years ago at conjuring even the smallest spark on my own. My intention was to walk away but something inside me pushed out, “Yes, I can cast flames.”

            _What on Nirn was I saying_? Even though I had serious doubts, whatever made my mouth say those words was something powerful, not willing to back down.

            _Su’um_.

            Fire in the breath.

            Staring at the Altmer, my mind raced. Where had that word come from? It had been years since this had happened, that word dancing in my thoughts. But, none the less, it was there. So strange, the way it tasted like _bormah_ and _monah_ even after all these years. I’d heard other strange words with Pavo. Words like _fetcher_ and _no lo'igra_ and _lhaj dar_. But none of those made me feel the way _su’um_ did.

            “Well?” Her voice broke through my thoughts.

            _Shit_. I shook my head, clearing my thoughts. “Yes, flames. Right.” A quick glance at my hands, a deep breath. How had I finally lit my parents’ pyres? My mind raced but it had been so long ago. There’d been frustration, sadness, what else?

            Tyval.

            “Elya, just give it _up_ already. Let’s just use a striker.”

            _That_ was it. After he’d said that, I was able to finally spin something out.

            Breathe in. I closed my eyes. All I had to do was think about that moment and there was _almost_ the feeling of power behind my hands when I threw them out towards the ground.

            But nothing happened.          

            The Altmer raised her brow. “I must admit, I wasn’t expecting you to cast an invisibility spell around your fire.” She rolled her eyes.

            “I’ve done it before.” Smacking my hands together, I sighed. “Just… lemme think about it again.” My fingers smoothed down my messy braid.

            The woman shook her head, snow falling from her hair. “I don’t have all day to watch you muck about, girl.” Throwing her hood back over her head, she turned. “You should get yourself out of the cold, you’ll freeze to death out here dressed like that.”

            I watched her step away and my heart raced. This couldn’t happen again, not after all this time. All the miles I had traveled to get to this dank, frozen shithole and now I couldn’t even convince this mage I was capable of casting a simple spell. The wound over my eye throbbed. The blood in my veins rushed in something mixed with anger and something quieter.

            The only thing I could attach it to was _su’um_.

            My fist pounded against the barrier again. “I _can_ cast fire, gods damn it all. Watch me burn your damned college into the sea!” And the elf still didn’t turn around. “I _will_!” I shouted.

            _SU’UM_.

            Whatever it was that had been pushing finally broke through. I felt fire jump from my fingertips and lick the ground towards her feet, effortlessly past the barrier. The Altmer stopped in her tracks and whipped her cloak against her leg, extinguishing small bits of flame that had found their way toward her. My hands were still outstretched, shaking.        

            It took me a moment to find my voice again but discovered it uneven. “S-see?” I had to take another heavy breath in to get the next part out. “Told you.” I felt something slide down my cheek. When it passed by my lips, I could taste blood. Apparently, my wound had opened up again.

            “Well done indeed.” She didn’t even turn her head but waved a hand behind her. The barrier vanished. “I had a feeling you were one of _those_ types but we can beat that out of you.” Quickly she clarified, “Metaphorically speaking, of course. We here at the college aren’t savages.”

            Taking a cautious step forward, it was strange to discover that the fire still lingered on some sort of symbol on the ground: an eye surrounded by something, maybe light. The woman still didn’t move so I quickly caught up to her. “What do you mean, one of _those_ types?”

            The mage was not exaggerating when she’d said the bridge was perilous. Steep and ice covered, there were huge portions of it missing from some lengths. At one point, it was only a thin stretch of concrete over the choppy seas below. I almost couldn’t hear her over the howling wind of winter. “Some mages are naturally inclined to the quiet, subtle forces of magic. The types who can feel the magic links in the world around them and weave spells with those threads.” She stepped over a large stone. “But then there are those like you who are a bit more… temperamental.”

            “Temperamental! I’m not—”

            She held a finger up. “—none the less, I think you’ll be a superb addition to the college. Now, apprentice, what is your name?”

            “Elya—” Almost slipping on a patch of ice, I caught myself. “Elyrrya Ashwing.”

            “Apprentice Ashwing,” she ignored my first name. “I am Master Faralda. Once we’re inside we’ll find Mirabelle Ervine, our Master Wizard. She will want to give you a tour of the college.”

            The entrance to the college opened up to a large courtyard. Small bushes dotted the landscape but the most prominent features were a large pool that radiated a column of blue light and, directly behind it, a statue of a wizard in flowing robes. It was still cold but the winds were all but cut out by the tall walls of the courtyard. From somewhere I heard voices in a heated argument.

            “Not again,” mumbled Faralda.

            “I believe I’ve made myself rather clear,” a woman’s voice strongly asserted.

            Faralda spoke up, “Mirabelle, we’ve another new student today. Care to show Apprentice Ashwing around?”

            The short-haired woman quickly turned from her conversation with an Altmer in long black robes, her brow still furrowed. “ _Gladly_.” One last glance at the Altmer, “If you’ll excuse me, I have _college_ business to tend to.” Mirabelle grabbed me by my arm and practically yanked me away. As I passed Faralda, I thought I noticed a smug look on her face directed toward the other Altmer.

            “Well, welcome to the college.” She let her hand relax a little but still led me to a set of doors that had been near the entrance. “I’m sure you know, but I Master Wizard Mirabelle Ervine. I’m actually surprised at how many students we’ve had come in the last few days.”

            I wasn’t sure what to say. “Other apprentices?”

            “Well, of course.” She closed the door behind us but we did not proceed up the stairs. Instead Mirabelle grabbed something out of a storage chest and then thrust them at me. “We can’t have you running around looking like that. Let me see that wound you have there. When were you injured?”

            With each word that came out of her mouth she was either waving at me, snapping her fingers or urging me to hurry. “I… uh… a couple of days ago. I’ve not looked at it.” Over my head I pulled off my old clothes and my cloak all in one motion. Down to just my smalls, Mirabelle frowned at me.

            “Where did you say you came from?” I felt her eyes examine my unwashed body and bones jutting out from irregular meals.

            “Riften.” It was true enough. I wrapped the robes around me, pulled on the thicker shoes. “My family moved to Solitude but decided to send me to the college.”

            Her squinting eyes didn’t look quite convinced but she snapped her fingers again. “Let’s see that wound.” Before I could unwind the makeshift bandage myself, her hands were already around my head. The Master Wizard frowned. “A couple of days ago? Were you hit in the head as well?”

            She wasn’t making any sense. “What in Oblivion are you going on about? I was _sliced_.” My finger ran down my face. “Isn’t it obvious?”

            Her serious face shook again. “This looks at least a week healed.” She didn’t even register my surprise. “But here, a minor healing spell should mend you up quickly.” One quick wave and a splash of gold filled my vision and the pain was gone. When my fingers traced where the wound had been, all I felt was scarring.

            “Luckily for you, wizards and mages aren’t much for looks. Scar like that won’t win you any marriage offers, but that sort of thing doesn’t matter here. Come along.”

            Trying to keep up with her was impossible. Back in the courtyard, she explained the history of the college, where classes were held, her position in the rankings. I was more amazed at how cold I _wasn’t_.

            “Now, if you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to your living quarters.” And Mirabelle was off again, rushing back to the set of doors we’d come from. I could see why the Arch-Mage trusted her to get things done around here: she was an unstoppable force when she had work to do.

            The clothes and now a living space though, it all seemed too good for someone who just walked in from the streets. “So what does all of this cost me, the robes, the room, the lessons?”

            Looking back at me, Mirabelle shrugged. “Normally we take anyone with the smallest amount of talent—it’s hard to come by in Skyrim.” It sounded like a rehearsed answer but I didn’t press the matter. “Unfortunately, we’ve had to implement more stringent entry procedures due to some…” the way she stopped made me think she was choosing her words carefully. “…problems with the local Nords.”

            “What kinds of problems?” I asked.

            “The kinds of problems that don’t concern someone who hasn’t been here for even an hour. Don’t worry, we don’t anticipate any violence. It just never hurts to be prepared.”

            Mirabelle explained that the Hall of Attainment was where the newest students were kept, all in one tower. The only stipulation was that I had to keep quiet so that I wouldn’t disturb anyone’s work. I was still suspicious about a number of goings on, but if keeping quiet meant having a place to stay then I was more than happy to not say a word.

            “And here you are,” Mirabelle pointed to a room circling another pool with blue light streaming out toward another floor of the tower. “This space is yours but you’ll be sharing everything else with your fellow students. They’re in class right now, but you can begin tomorrow. I would advise you to make yourself at home, unpack your… belongings.” She obviously was in doubt that my ragged knapsack carried anything important. “Be at the Hall of Elements first thing in the morning. Don’t be late.”

            And with that I was left alone.

            It was more than strange. No rooms had any doors. It seemed as if everyone kept their belongings out in the open. “They must really trust one another,” my hushed voice didn’t carry in my room. Fully furnished, there was even a few books and alchemy items in the drawers and cupboards.

            But something still felt _off_. This had been too easy. I anticipated more resistance than _this_ , someone like me just demanding to be trained as a mage. But I couldn’t worry about that. Doing as Mirabelle suggested, I unpacked what I had. Walking around the floor, I was able to find a spare room with a wash tub. The pitchers of water on the table along the walls were shockingly hot. Magic, I supposed.

            I bathed and dried off. Sitting on my new bed and brushing out my hair with a comb I’d found in a drawer, I couldn’t help but wonder what Mirabelle was going on about when she’d healed my eye. It wasn’t until I’d come across a mirror in another dresser that my heart dropped.

            “Gods damn.” My left eye now had something ragged and angry running down from my brow and underneath to my swell of my high cheekbone. I’d never been particularly attached to my appearance but this was a little disheartening. “To Oblivion with it.” I threw the mirror back where it came from and flopped into my bed.

            But I still couldn’t help wondering what the price of all this was going to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we're in Arc I which is going to follow Elya at the College of Winterhold. Nice of Falk to be so... friendly? Eh, better than being thrown in jail. Also, Arcano is cropping up a bit earlier than in the original game canon but such is life. Next chapter? The real fun begins!
> 
> Thanks for some lovely guests for leaving kudos and a super special thanks to Cherryade and Lyraine for their encouraging words! It really means a lot to me!
> 
> Two things:  
> 1\. Somehow the notes section at the end of each chapter of Relentless is also sticking in the summary for the entire story. Any idea how to get rid of that?  
> 2\. My schedule is getting a bit wild so if you'd like to keep up with the fics, check out skyrim-fanfiction on Tumblr! The site is a bit of a mess at the moment but I'll be redoing it soon!
> 
> Thanks for reading! -Ash


	8. Arc I: Chapter 2

            My feet.  
  
            I couldn’t feel my feet.  
  
            The wind howled around me, biting through what little I was wearing. Snow, while not falling, whipped around so that my vision became obscured. This felt funny. Nothing felt clear or right. But something is sharp: the _smell._ It’s the smell of sulfur and burnt leather and… I couldn’t quite place it. Earth? Charcoal? No. Something richer than that because the scent mingles with the snow. Then I realize that maybe the earth after a storm is probably the closest I can get to describing what is filling my nose.

            “ _Ziil gro dovah ulse_ _,_ ” a deep boom makes me jump but when I turn around, nothing is there to produce the sound.

            But it’s strange. The words make me think of _monah_ and _bormah._

            “Who’s there?” I shout into the white. “Show yourself!”

            No one comes forward. There’s only more wind and more cold and once more:

            “ _Alok_.”

* * *

 

            When I woke with a start, all I could register was my pounding heart, the rushing of blood to my head. It took me a few minutes to realize that I was at the College of Winterhold. Although chilled, I wasn’t going to complain. After years of traveling, sleeping out in the wilds, and wondering where my next bed was going to be, this was living in luxury. Well, almost. Glancing out my room, I couldn’t hear anything or see anyone. As strange as that was, something else nagged at me.

            _What had I’d been dreaming about_? I stared out into the shared living space, a soft blue column of light the only thing of interest, but did so blankly. Something tasted off on my tongue.

            I groaned. “Who in Oblivion _cares_ , Elya?” How gods damned ridiculous to think a dream was important. None of my dreams of my family while living alone had meant anything. Dreams were meaningless.

            No one was around. I quietly moved around the first floor, avoiding going up the stairs. Empty beds. A table of half-eaten food. For certain, I was alone. Whatever hadn’t been touched I helped myself to, slumping onto a bench and marveling at food just being laid out and unclaimed. I greedily sliced off thick chunks of bread, cheese, and fruit and layered them on top of one another, shoving the whole thing in my mouth. Something made a noise and I jumped, coughing chunks of food onto the table. Whipping myself around, I found nothing behind me.

            I mumbled flatly to myself, rolling my eyes. This was always the worst part about moving from place to place: getting used to the new little odd creaks and squeaks that were probably built into walls. Even worse the fact that I had only myself to rely on—Pavo’s extra eyes and ears had often provided extra comfort. Still though, it was stupid how I couldn’t relax here. I wasn’t a thief here, hadn’t stolen anything.

            I swallowed as the word _yet_ creeped into my thoughts.

            “No.” I shoved another piece of cheese into my mouth. “You’re here to learn magic, not steal…” Looking around, I went over what exactly was just laying around. “…useless junk.”

            Then it hit me: I was supposed to be _learning_ magic. My legs tangled in on themselves as I scrambled to stand up, muttering, “Namira’s _shit_ ,” as I ran to the main door and flung it open. _Of course_ , it never occurred to me to wonder _where_ everyone was. Even as the cold air hit me, my mind silently cursed myself. My feet slipped on snow and ice as I sprinted to the Hall of Elements, nearly knocking a woman in yellow robes over who yelled at me from behind in a screeching, bird-like shriek.

            With ice melting on my shoes, I continued to slide around on the polished stones underneath my feet. There was the sound of an older man filling the hall but when I slammed into the iron grates of the door, he as well as a few students and the Altmer Mirabelle had been arguing with yesterday came into view. At the booming sound of iron on stone, they all whipped around with eyes on me. Breathing heavily, both arms still braced on the doors, I tried to muster a half-hearted smirk. I’m pretty sure it just came out as a weak-looking grimace.

           “Hi?”  
  
           They continued to stare at me.  
  
           The Khajiit apprentice snickered into his paw.  
  
           The Altmer sneered.

           Surprisingly, the older man who’d been addressing everyone simply smiled, the creases in his face becoming more deeply etched at the corners of his eyes and around his mouth. “Welcome, welcome! We were just beginning. Please stay and listen, Apprentice…”  
  
            So I hadn’t missed much. That was a little reassuring although I probably should have known who this guy was.  Did Mirabelle mention him yesterday? “Ashwing. Apprentice Ashwing.”  
  
            “Ah, yes! Apprentice Ashwing. I recall Master Ervine mentioning a newcomer.” He continued to smile at me, his eyes offering me nothing more than an almost bemused ignorance of my barging in on the middle of his lesson. Everyone else seemed to realize that I’d made a misstep but not him. No. Whatever his name was, the wizard showed no signs of being disturbed by my arrival.  
  
              “Yes, well…” I attempted to smooth out some wrinkles in my robes and slid into place beside a Dunmer. “I’m here now.” Swallowing, I still felt all eyes on me. My face heated up and I felt my heart race. Gods. I’d never felt this self-conscious before. Unsure if he understood that I wanted him to continue, I added, “Master.” Seemed like a good thing to say anyway.  
  
              It seemed to be enough. “So, as I was saying, the first thing to understand is that magic is, by its very nature, volatile and dangerous.”  
  
               Rolling my eyes, I bit my tongue. Making sure that I stayed in line was probably for the best. No matter how senile this master seemed. A chill washed over me as he finished the thought, “Unless you can control it, it can and _will_ destroy you.”  
  
              The young Dunmer woman beside me chimed in, “Sir, I think we all understand that _fairly_ well. We wouldn’t be here if we could control magic!”  
  
              Trying to keep a straight face, I bit my tongue to keep from grinning like an idiot. She’d only been voicing what my own thoughts had been.  
  
              It was little annoying the way our instructor waved his hand dismissively, still smiling. “ _Of course_ , my dear, of course. You all certainly possess some inherent natural ability. That much is not being questioned.” Despite his reassurances, the woman continued to keep her arms crossed and her mouth set in a straight, unamused line. “What I’m talking about is _true_ control, mastery of magic. It takes years, if not _decades,_ of practice and study.”  
  
              “Then what are we waiting for?” grumbled the Khajiit who’d laughed at me earlier. “Let’s get started!”  
  
               “Please, please! This is exactly what I’m talking about. Eagerness must be tempered with caution or else disaster is inevitable.”  
  
               “But we’ve only just arrived here— you’ve _no_ idea what any of us are capable of. Why not give us a chance to show what we can do?” the remaining apprentice moaned.  
  
                Every time this old man spoke, he incited some sort of complaint or retort from the other students. It reminded me of the times Pavo and I would stay in small villages in Cyrodiil and catch whispers of mages part of the Arcane University who’d groan, make all sorts of noise about how the Thalmor were taking over and changing the classes taught, making access to the university restricted, and on it went. Pavo joked that mages were good at pretending the world didn’t exist. I usually wondered what it was that happened inside the place. Surely, it wasn’t as useless as he’d made it out to be but I could never deny that it seemed like mages preferred to sit around and talk or read as opposed to _doing_ anything practical.  
  
             “Apprentice Ashwing?” the teacher’s voice broke through my thoughts. Everyone’s gaze focused on me again, my face burned hot.  
  
              “What?” I snapped, my panic causing me to retaliate.  
  
               And for the first time since I’d barged in, the wizard frowned. “I observed that you’ve been quiet so far. What do you think we should do?”  
  
               My stomach dropped. What? My cheeks burned hotter and my thoughts raced. The other apprentices wouldn’t stop looking at me. The Altmer glared. The instructor was obviously expecting something. Even though my mind forced my mouth to move, my lips rebelled. _I don’t know what to say. I don’t know. What’s the right answer?_ Finally, I managed to strangle out, “I’m not really sure.”  
  
              _Gods._ I sounded like a fool, even to myself.  
  
              It must have made the wizard a little sympathetic to my lack of attention. “Not going to weigh in either way? Well, I suppose I can understand the initial fear of making a decision, especially for an apprentice such as yourself, but there are times you _must_ make decisions, even without all the facts. Rely on instinct.” He presented a hand as if to offer me another chance.  
  
             Before I could get anything out, the apprentice who was the only other Man besides myself and the instructor spoke directly to me, “We’re all pretty new at this, right? Let’s just give it a chance. What’s the worst that could happen?”  
  
             _We could blow ourselves up,_ initially came up but he seemed so kind that it gave me a little courage. Swallowing down some lingering hesitation, I decided on, “Something practical?”            

            Maybe this wasn’t as bad as I thought it was. The teacher clapped his hands together and smiled warmly. “That’s the spirit! Practical it is. But we’ll add in an element of safety for good measure.” He stood back and made a large sweeping motion with his arm. “We’ll start with wards. Wards are protective spells that block magic.”  
  
             _Mara bless_. I didn’t know any wards. My death seemed imminent but he seemed to find my fear on my face easily. “Don’t worry, I’ll teach you a ward and we’ll see how successfully you can block a basic spell. Nothing to it.”  
  
              At least _he_ seemed optimistic.  
  
             “Come on now, this was your decision,” he motioned to me, “Would you mind helping me with this demonstration?”  
  
              Shaking my head, I responded, “I entered using a fire spell.”  
  
             “Well then, nothing to be concerned about. I can teach you something basic for the purposes of this lesson. Come, come,” he motioned again. Biting the inside of my cheek, I took a few hesitant steps until we stood about five feet from one another. Stealing a quick glance, I did my best to ignore my classmates watching our every move.  
  
               “Wards are part of the school of Restoration.” He once again waved his arm in a wide, sweeping motion. “Restoration in essence is not about fixing what is broken but rather about summoning life force to return what is unbalanced back to equilibrium. Wards are a reflex, a flash of your own life force pushed outward to repel force that threatens your own.” In the blink of an eye he stepped forward, swept his arm out, and a flash of blue exploded outward around him. I’d no idea wards were so… complicated.  
  
                The first time I tried mimicking him, nothing happened. Then the second, the third, the fourth, and so on. I growled in frustration. He seemed to expect the outcome. “You aren’t pushing. You’re simply stepping and making a motion. Life force is something you feel _here_.” His hands made a clawing, desperate gesture at his chest. “ _Reach_ and _channel_ the beating of your heart, the rise and fall of your lungs—” he closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. “And _PUSH!_ ”  
  
                Even the Altmer flinched at the sound of his voice booming throughout the Hall of Elements. Senile, fragile, or simply strange, I could _hear_ the magic laced in his words. Was this what being what a mage was about? Being able to connect to a force so powerful that even one’s tongue was linked to it? Surprisingly, the idea didn’t sound so mad to me. It felt familiar. Nodding in understanding, I closed my eyes and breathed in heavily. Hopefully, I was doing it right.  
  
             “Ready for the real thing then?”  
  
            Pursing my lips, I breathed out to push my body forward this time and the exhale swept my arm over. A thrilled shriek escaped me as something light blue filled my vision and then spread weakly around me. In my excitement, the ward suddenly fell and my world regained its natural hue. My blood raced through my veins—it wasn’t just a candle or a weak fireball. Magic _did_ flow through me. Just like _bormah_ and _monah_. To Oblivion if I looked foolish.  
  
               “You have to keep your ward _up_ or else this won’t work,” our teacher’s voice, while filled with long-suffering patience, had a tinge of weariness to it. As if an afterthought he added, “I don’t want to hurt you.” Expertly, his wrist flicked upward and an orange ball sparked to life in his palm.  
  
                No question. I could do this. I was gifted. Talented. Everything my parents knew, I could know. Quickly, I repeated the actions to my previous success and at first all seemed to go well. A push, a flash, a slight thrill.  
  
                Then he hurled the foreball at me.

* * *

 

            “Ow, ow, ow, ow.” Another sharp sting. “OW! Would you watch it?”

            The past hour had been highly educational for me. Not only did I discover that it was Master Tolfdir who’d struck me in the arm but that the shrieking bird lady I’d run into earlier was none other than Master Colette Marence, expert in Restoration. Also, the resident healer for any magical mishaps in the college. _Lucky_ me.  Now she kept me from returning quickly. Each word out of her mouth caused me to mentally flee.   
  
            “Well, it’s not my fault you can’t keep a simple ward up.” Although the softer golds were beginning to dissipate and my arm didn’t burn quite as badly, she thought it necessary to prattle on. “I keep telling Mirabelle _and_ the Arch-Mage that we _really_ need to make Restoration one of the primary focuses but no one _ever_ takes me seriously.” She grasped my arm harder and nearly yanked it off as she told me for the hundredth time, “Restoration is a valid school of magic! You know that surely?” Before giving me a chance to even blink she continued on.  
  
            I prayed to whatever gods might be listening that she would _shut up_ but it looked as if I had no such blessings bestowed upon me. _Gods_ , no wonder the other mages thought that all the time and effort wasted on her research could be put to better use. Did she even do _anything_ besides talk one’s ear off? Tapping my foot, I sighed. Each second I was forced to sit here was another second I wasn’t with my class. Maybe if I _did_ have a shred of interest in Restoration, Colette wasn’t going to allow me a word in between her screeches.

“Not that _I_ require validation, of course. There are just some—and I _shan't_ name names—who would disagree. It can make life difficult when one's colleagues fail to recognize the research one engages in.”

            Just as she started on about wards again, I realized that the pause would offer me a chance to slip away. I shot up and toward the door. She didn’t even look surprised.  
  
            “Yes, well, restoration was certainly helpful with this burn.”  
  
            “ _Burn?”_ she shrieked again. “Restoration is so much more powerful than just patching up scrapes and bruises!”  
  
            I don’t think she noticed as I quietly padded out of her room and out the Hall of Countenance while her tirade went on. As quickly as my feet could shuffle in the ever-growing inches of snow of the courtyard, I rushed across while passing a few other mages I didn’t recognize. Colette’s endless moaning and complaining had kept me longer than expected. While listening to the Master of Restoration waste her breath, the rest of the apprentices had gotten in more practice with wards. By now, they were probably gone.  
  
            After my ward failed, Tolfdir had made sure to shout from behind me as I trudged to Colette, “If you don’t find us here, we’ll be in the Arcanaeum!” So when I found the Hall of Elements empty, I sighed.  
  
            “Fantastic.” I blew a piece of stray hair out of my face and smoothed down my now messy braid. Today had been nothing but me running from one place to another. And now another set of stairs, more heavy wooden doors that smelled like they’d been cured in mold. But when I opened up the door to the library proper, my breath left me.  
  
            Deep, rich and warm. The very essence of this place. Every inch of wood polished to a high shine, soft candlelight illuminating the darkest corners, and cozy nooks adorned with stacks and stacks of books. Every inch of wall was covered with tall, glass door bookcases. Suddenly, my mind returned back to the wilds. All those times I laid in trees or stared up at the sky dusted in starlight, I’d mused aloud to Meeko about the houses I’d buy, the wonderful food my table would be decked with. All the books that my homes would hold.  
  
            This though? All of my musings and wishing could not have compared to how perfect this place appeared.  
  
            The only people here were my classmates from this morning, tucked away in various places with their noses deep in the pages of the tomes, and an Orc behind a desk at the far end of the Arcanaeum. While the others didn’t even look up when I entered, he watched every move I made. Orcs, while known for being a bit gruff and stubborn, had never caused me much trouble. Pavo wasn’t foolish enough to steal from one and I followed suit. Any that we encountered usually kept to themselves.  
  
            When I got closer and met his gaze, he addressed me directly with no provocation or warning, “I’ll tell you like I told the others: I don't care if you wrote it yourself— if you want a book from here, you go through me.” I froze. Nodded. “I am Urag gro-Shub. You are now in the Arcanaeum, of which _I_ am in charge. It might as well be my own little plane of Oblivion,” he punctuated the thought with a deep, joyless chuckle. Then he suddenly stopped and leaned close to me. “Disrupt my Arcanaeum and I will have you torn apart by angry Atronachs. These books might as well be Hermaeus Mora’s collection. Are we clear?”  
  
            Well, I wasn’t _quite_ sure but I got the gist. For certain, I now knew that every mage was as mad as Sheogorath. I had no doubt that the beauty of this place was kept up only by this mage’s obsessive nature. What was I supposed to say to that? “Um…yes?” Master Urag’s steely gaze didn’t waiver from me. “I understand,” I tried making myself a little more convincing.  
  
            It was hard to tell, but I think his face softened. At least his lower teeth didn’t seem to bite into his upper lip as deeply. “Now, do you require assistance?”  
  
            Taking a deep breath in, I introduced myself, “I’m Apprentice Ashwing, a new student.”  
  
            “Ah,” his deep voice rumbled. “One of Tolfdir’s new fledglings. You have a list.”  
  
            “A list?”  
  
            “What? You one of the apprentices who doesn’t know how to read or write? You’ll have to see Mirabelle about that. Not uncommon for beginning mages to—”

            “No!” my interruption a little too hasty, I was simply mortified at the thought. “I can read and write. Why would you let someone in if they couldn’t?”

            The Orc snorted but gave me a sort of bemused grin. “You think just anyone can become a mage? Place like Skyrim, even harder to come by. Not a whole lot of Nords take stock in magic. Breton like you probably had mages for parents, spent your whole life with a nose in some book, and your mother and father would make you practice some useless skill every day.”  
  
            I gave him my best shrug in agreement and didn’t bother correcting any details he might have been misunderstanding. “So?”  
  
            “So Nords are like Orcs,” his voice seemed a little melancholy at the observation but continued, “Spell can’t do anything that the swing of a sword or axe can’t handle.”  
  
            Although I wanted to press him further, I became acutely aware that I was the only one of the apprentices standing around and chatting like I was at market rather than working. “The list then?” Urag slid it over to me. My eyes scanned over the items, frowning. “ _All_ of these?”  
  
            “You were the one who made such a fuss about being literate.”  
  
            Glaring at him, I snatched an inkwell and quill from his work area. “ _Fine_. Where is all of this?”  
  
            Master Urag set his mouth firmly again. “I’ve set what you need out. I don't want to see you treating any of these books poorly. Hundreds of years have gone into assembling this collection. It's going to stay pristine, understand?”  
  
            This mage certainly liked his books. “Got it. No bedding or wedding them without your permission.” Although I tried smiling at the joke, he continued to glare at me obviously unamused. Clearing my throat, I answered, “I’ll take care of them.”  
  
            “You need another book, you talk to me. Otherwise you're going to find yourself in a lot of pain.”  
  
            That didn’t sound like light jest. My feet carried me quickly to the nearest table with a stack of books, my eyes wide and my blood coursing a little too rapidly for casual reading. This sealed it. Every one of them was mad. I’d voluntarily come to a place where not one sane person dared to tread. Flipping the first book open, a sharp inhale of breath heralded the impending boredom: _Night of Tears_.  
  
            “You’ve _got_ to be kidding me,” I muttered to myself. “Oblivion take me.”  
  
            Although I sat one table away from the young Dunmer woman, I didn’t realize that my complaints would carry that far. She shot me a hooded glance and hissed, “I’m trying to pay attention.”  
  
            A burst of laughter escaped me. I picked up the book by the spine and waved it at her. “Good luck. I’m fairly certain this is meant to be a test of your attention span.”  
  
            From behind us a rough shout addressed me, “ _I said be careful with those!”_ I flinched and gingerly placed the book back on the table.  
  
            “Sorry,” I whispered but then turned my attention back to the apprentice. “You can’t be _that_ interested in some old ruins.”

            Her red eyes met mine. “Considering elves were slaughtered there, I suppose you wouldn’t,” she replied icily.  
  
            “Hey! Did I _say_ anything about elves?” Akatosh above, I’d no idea elves were so gods damn touchy about everything. Then again, I’d never actually spoke to any at length about anything.

            “You didn’t have to.” She closed her book slowly. “Before you even ask, yes, I have an ancestry steeped in magic, and no I don't want to talk about it. Yes, I know Winterhold used to be full of my kind, and no I don't care that they're all gone now.” Her lips pursed in stoic disinterest, arms folded, she finished with, “Does that cover everything?”  
  
            I rolled my eyes. This was unbelievable. “Wow. We don’t even know one another and you’re accusing me of killing every elf in Tamriel. You must be very popular back home.”  
  
            She bit her lower lip and opened her mouth to say something but then snapped it back shut. Her arms lowered. “I apologize. It hasn’t been too long since I left home and a lot of has happened. I suppose we haven't been properly introduced. Brelyna Maryon, of House Telvanni. First of my family to leave Morrowind in a long time. Now I'm here to study Conjuration.” The words seemed to ring of something she’d told herself over and over again, practiced it so that it sounded real. Even the affirmation, “That's what's important,” smelled rehearsed.  
  
            “House Telvanni?” I couldn’t keep elves straight much less the details.  
  
            Although Brelyna had eased up a bit, she still snapped open her book and spat out, “I've been asked enough questions. I'm here to learn, not to explain myself over and over.” Her face went immediately back into the book. If I’d been closer, I could have been more sure that her voice sounded like it was choking, almost ready to announce tears. But, it seemed like she realized what had happened and promptly apologized, “Forgive me, I didn't mean to assume.” And nothing more passed between us.  
  
            Instead I focused on the stack of books before me, each page blurring more than the last. I took what notes I could with the parchment that’d been provided but, after three or four books, they became less and less coherent and filled with scribbles on the unused portions. After every sentence, a yawn would escape. Eras passed as I struggled to finish a chapter. My mind wandered to places that didn’t really exist.  
  
            This had to be Oblivion on Nirn.  
  
            Despite surviving the wilds, killing a sabre cat, and a host of other things, I was going to die in this library reading the _Herbalist's Guide to Skyrim_.  
            At some point, I’d fallen asleep. Someone shook my shoulder gently. “Apprentice Ashwing?” Brelyna’s soft voice tried to lull me out of my slumber. “We’re going back to the Hall of Attainment to get something to eat.”  
  
            “Huh?” I wiped the drool from my mouth and stretched my arms upward. “Oh. Yeah. I guess I didn’t realize how hard this would be.”

            She nodded. “It is exhausting if you haven’t been doing it your entire life. Come. Onmund and J’zargo are waiting for us.”

* * *

 

            Onmund laughed and took another sip of ale. “Master Tolfdir was too afraid of injuring all of us at once so we spent the rest of the time casting wards at nothing. Ancano spent the entire time snorting and grumbling about how he was wasting his time!”  
  
            Shrugging, I snatched another apple from across J’zargo’s plate. “J’zargo thinks that you learned your manners from the Orcs.” He gave me a smirk but that was it.  
            “I dare you to say that to Urag.” Taking a bite, I asked, “Wush up wiff ‘im enyway?”  
  
            One hand in her lap and the other delicately picking at a roasted potato, Brelyna sat so straight it looked painful. “The Khajiit is right. Your manners leave much to be desired.”  
  
            Finishing off the apple, I tossed the remaining core on the table. “I’m too busy reading about how to muffle my own footsteps to worry about silly things like that. Why can’t mages just learn to walk more quietly? It’s not like it’s hard. Seems like a waste of good magic to cast a muffle spell when you could easily buy a new pair of shoes.”

            The Nord rolled his eyes but grinned. I’d decided on being more careful about asking personal questions to my fellow apprentices after upsetting Brelyna, but Onmund seemed to be the most easy-going.  He’d been the most helpful so far filling me in on some details. Ancano, for example, skulked around the college under the pretense of observing as a Thalmor representative but spent his time arguing with Master Ervine and asking far too many details about the master wizards’ personal research.

            “Sounds like something a thief would say,” Onmund joked.

            Immediately I turned my eyes downward and laughed nervously, hoping no one would notice my behavior. “Ha! A thief mage. What a useless profession _that_ would be.” No one responded so I answered myself, “Really foolish.” _Fine job at not making yourself seem suspicious, Elya._

            But no one said anything, acted as if nothing was out of place. It slowly dawned on me that I _could_ let my guard down—these people suspected nothing. When I introduced myself as Elya, that was it. For all they knew, when I told them my parents lived in Solitude, my non-existent family suddenly resided across Skyrim. Explaining that I’d been sent to the College of Winterhold because Arcane University was too far had seemed reasonable and easy. I could breathe here, forget anything that happened in the past or what I’d done. This was a new start.

            We spent time talking about the readings, sharing thoughts and tips about some spells and alchemy ingredients. Surprisingly, it felt natural even though the last few years had been devoid of this sort of thing. Although Pavo dragged me to inns, homes, and sometimes public events, we were thieves. No free moment could be found to for us to make friends other than each other. Every second became about making sure our plans went according to plan.

            No more planning, scheming, lying, sneaking, running or anything else that put me on edge. I had thought life with Pavo meant no more wondering if I would live the next day but it became a different kind of survival: worried that I was going to be thrown in jail or found by bandits.

Despite all of these wonderful feelings, something still didn’t sit right with me. With the wilds, all it asked of me was to survive. With Pavo, my conscience had been compromised. But this?

I still didn’t know what the price of all this was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope all of you like really dorky ideas about magic and the mages' colleges in TES lore because that's what this entire arc is going to be about. Okay, okay, it's also going to be about Rook's time at the college and some events that occurred there. House Telvanni just keeps popping up, doesn't it? Wonder if that's going to be important (for those of you who remember, it is!). Also, I have 100% drawn from my experiences in school for this chapter--falling asleep out of boredom, running through hallways because I was late, and not paying attention to teachers because my mind has wandered.
> 
> The hardest part about writing Relentless is Elya as a young woman who hasn't...well, you see what she has become in Rook of Skyrim. She's a bit rough around the edges but she tries to interact with others, gets a lot of joy out of it, and actually worries about what people think about her. She's also a bit hopeful! Eh, I know. That gets crushed but it makes Relentless that much harder to read.
> 
> Oh! Speaking of reading and writing, if you've missed if I've started Leading the Blind (RoS's sequel!). Only one chapter so far but I'd love to see what you guys think about it. I highly recommend reading Unfortunate Daughter first. It's a short one-shot so quick to get through.
> 
> Thanks are in order to a bunch a kind guests who've left kudos and to Lyraine for leaving kudos (I'm glad you're liking Leading the Blind so far!).
> 
> Next chapter? Winterhold Apprentice Hijinks(TM). Thanks for reading! -Ash


	9. Arc 1: Chapter 3

My mouth set in a straight line. My eyes looked ahead, unblinking.

One small mistake and it would be the end of me.

Reaching out toward the middle of the table, I slid a new card from the stack and breathed a sigh of relief: just a skeever. Placing it in my hand, I searched for some sort of combination that would give me leverage. There was no possible way that a hand with two skeevers, two hargravens, and a wolf could possibly hold their own without knowing what everyone else had. J’zargo especially.  
  
            Flippantly, I waved at Onmund. “Pass.”  
  
            “Pass?” As his hand took a card from the deck, he winked playfully at me. “That doesn’t really seem like the kind of thing you’d do.”

Rolling my eyes, I didn’t even bother responding.

Brelyna didn’t look up from her hand, too busy moving cards around and reorganizing them. “It’s getting late. Perhaps after this game, we should head back to the college. As much as I like being away I also don’t want—” as if suddenly remembering where we were, her voiced dropped low into a whisper that only we could hear, “I would prefer that we _didn’t_ stay here for the night.”  
  
            None of us disagreed. Loredas was the only day that the masters and instructors didn’t have us working or studying so for weeks and then months, the four of us would spend our evenings at The Frozen Hearth. Winterhold, I’d discovered, was a frozen shit hole. After the first trip out, it wasn’t hard to see why the college kept their guard up around the locals; we would meander around in our robes and the mere swishing of the fabric turned the heads of the locals. The Nords were particularly troublesome. Onmund might as well been a Mer to them.

J’zargo threw down a card and all of us groaned audibly, causing the other patrons to shoot us dirty looks. “It appears as if this one has made sure that we can depart in a timely manner.”  
            The gods damned kitten.

I threw out my hand, the cards I was holding scattered into what was left of our game. “This is unbelievable! How is it that you _always_ end up with Mehrunes Dagon?” Leaning over the table, I squinted at him. “I find that suspicious.”  
            “First,” he held up one digit of his paw, “J’zargo always ends up with _Merrunz_. Mehrunes Dagon is for the Men and Mer. And second,” his paw swiped forward and in the blink of an eye, had extracted a card from my sleeve, “At least this one comes by victories honestly.”

Onmund held his hand up to his mouth but the creases of his eyes and the roundness of his cheeks gave away laughter.  
  
            Brelyna arched an eyebrow at me, one side of her mouth turned upward in incredulity. “The least you could do is learn how to cast a simple invisibility spell. I swear, it’s as if you _want_ to get caught.” She peaked over at the card still in J’Zargo’s paw. “And a _hargraven_ at that? What? Were you hoping to make a coven?”  
  
            I snatched the card from the Khajiit and slapped it face down on the table. “I’m getting another drink,” I grumbled and set off toward the bar. Since J’zargo had introduced the Khajiit card game, none of us had been able to best him. Once the kitten came out, he would wipe the entire table out. He’d told us that it could be defeated.  
  
            “Everyone forgets about Heroes until they’re needed,” he’d purred cryptically.  
  
            Oblivion only knew what _that_ meant. At the bar, I squeezed in between two large men, my finger held up in attention. “I need an ale!”  
  
            One of the men grunted and elbowed me, “What you need t’learn is some _manners_.”  
  
            It had been made very clear to us at the College that almost seventy years ago, most of Winterhold had been swallowed up by the Sea of Ghosts due to unknown events. In Winterhold, the local residents never let us forget that they blamed the College and the mages for their town withering away. So wrapped up in wallowing in their suffering, they let old buildings and homes rot away down to their foundations.

It made these sorts of encounters hard for me to stay calm and clear-headed.

I roughly elbowed the large man back. “Hey! Watch it!”

He shot up out of his chair and shoved me. “Filthy mage!”

My feet tripped over themselves, my body flew backwards as I regained balance. Around us there was some shouting; I saw my friends race towards me but my blood was already running hot. Gritting my teeth, I hurled myself with all the force I could muster. The Nord was a mountain made flesh but I managed to throw him off balance. Stools fell over, yells surrounded us. Finally, someone yanked me off of the guy.

“Elya!” Onmund and Brelyna each had one of my arms. J’zargo was in front of me, pushing me away from the commotion. The Nord’s friends weren’t quite as rough but some were gently holding him away.

“What?” I shouted. “Are you afraid I’ll best you? _Ha_!”

“ _Shut up_!” Brelyna hissed, still pulling me away. “You’re going to get us killed!”

My body relaxed a bit and I yanked my arms out of their grasp. “Fine!” Turning on a heel and throwing my hands up, I began stomping out of the inn. “We were leaving anyway!”

Unfortunately, the nights in Winterhold were less bearable than the days. Rushing out in such a state of blind anger, I’d forgotten my heavy cloak. Damned if I would go slinking back in sheepishly; I’d suffer the biting cold at my face and wind slicing through my clothes. A door slammed shut behind me. Aside from snow and ice crushing underneath my own steps, multiple feet echoed behind me.

“Here,” Brelyna shoved something into my arms. “It’s cold.”

Muttering underneath my breath, I shook out my forgotten cloak and whipped it around me, snapping my hood over my head. “Thanks.”

Onmund and J’zargo fell into easy step beside us but not one word passed. The houses and buildings that were nothing more than half-walls floors had snow piled in the corners. A lonely guard strolled around the house of the jarl. He gave us a passing glance but continued on with his patrol. When we reached the entry way to the College, J’zargo waved one paw and the barrier that kept out everyone but those we could trust fell for a moment. As we crossed the threshold, a flash of blue waved across and, once again, we were safe from those that would hurt us.

* * *

 

            The next morning, things got worse. Early lectures were usually saved for what Onmund jokingly referred to as “useless topics.” I could endure lectures on history and policy but Colette’s were probably the worse. Sometimes she went on for hours validating her own work. This lecture, however, was meant to be something more practical.

            “Enchanting services are one of the few things that keep us in touch with the rest of Skyrim,” Master Sergius Turrianus began. “I think we could blow up half of Eastmarch and people would still come to us for enchantments!”

            He chuckled at his own joke but Onmund, J’zargo, and Brelyna laughed in genuine mirth. I simply smiled and forced out some half-strangled thing that sounded like I was amused. I’d discovered over the past few months that enchanting wasn’t my strong suit. In fact, the masters had already started taking bets on which students would be their new research assistants. While Master Sergius was one of the favorites among students for his easy nature, he’d blatantly informed me, “You aren’t meant for the… challenges that enchanting might present.”

            But today, it seemed as if he was going to take it easy on us. An arcane enchanter had been brought down from one of the research rooms and a variety of soul gems had been placed on it. “Instead of filling soul gems, we’ll be emptying them today!”

            Everyone else seemed pleased enough. I swallowed hard. _Anything_ but enchanting. Conjuration was coming along much better. One flip of my wrist and I could find an unnatural dagger in my hand. Master Phinis Gestor wasn’t my favorite person but he seemed to find me tolerable enough. Although it was a little disturbing the way he kept subtly suggesting that I should become a necromancer. I wanted nothing to do with it if it meant having the dark, hallowed out eyes he had.

            Master Sergius held out a petty soul gem to Brelyna. She smiled widely as her opposite hand spun easily around it, catching a wisp of a soul in her hand. It glowed coldly in her grey palm. “Easy enough.”

            He held one out to Onmund and J’zargo who both mimicked Brelyna in performance and success. Then he stopped at me. It wasn’t as if I didn’t _try._ We were all warned in the beginning that not everything would come to us easily. Talent is one thing but hard work was more important if that talent were to be nurtured. Despite my long hours and frustration though, enchanting gave me more problems than anything else. “Apprentice Ashwing,” he offered me a stone. “Perhaps stay on the table at first.”

            My mouth couldn’t even be bothered to try to smile. Sighing, I slipped the stone into my palm and concentrated. The master wizard gave me a long-suffering look that told me he wasn’t expecting much. I’d gotten used to the feeling of everyone staring at me while I clumsily attempted something that was close to the goal. Now it was a regular annoyance. Frantically, my mind traced the lines of the table working to recall which connections channeled the most power, where I could best utilize the magic embedded in the table.

            This never happened with any destruction spells either. The Altmer who had greeted me when I’d first arrived ended up being my instructor in destruction magic. Faralda would have taken a liking to me if only for the fact that an older, more experienced student named Nirya had decided that I was a blight on Nirn. But it turned out that I did have more than knack for destruction magic. Fire, ice? Easy. At least the intermediate spells for right now. But Faralda wasn’t displeased at my progress. She became excited at the idea of teaching me lighting spells.

            “You’ll enjoy the feel of electricity at your fingertips,” she would smile lightly, “Trust me.”

            Brelyna, Onmund, and J’zargo all tried to aid me in their own ways. Outside of lecture, it helped. But now? I was on my own during lecture demonstrations. My hands slid the stone over a point and turned it on a line knowing that if they could, they would have reminded me which line was which. A breath escaped me and I realized that I’d been holding in my air.

            “Um. Alright, then,” I whispered to myself. “Now, just…”

            My hand didn’t have quite the fluid grace that the others’ had; my fingers felt awkward curling up and around to beckon the soul out. Nothing happened the first time but on the second try, the wisp cooperated. The eerie, light blue glow crept up around my wrist before finally deciding to settle in my palm. “Stupid soul,” I grumbled.

            J’zargo patted me on the back and purred, “Do not worry. One day, you will be as powerful as this one.”

            Rolling my eyes, I playfully smacked him in the face with the weak soul. He stumbled back, pawing at the light dissipating on his fur and in front of his face. “Bleh!” J’zargo’s face stayed scrunched up with his tongue sticking out. Brelyna rolled her eyes while Onmund laughed silently to himself.

            “Apprentice Ashwing!” Sergius admonished. “This is not playtime!”

            But J’zargo had decided differently. Rearing up, he hurled a ball of light at me and it stuck on the side of my face. “J’zargo!” I stumbled around, blinded by the magelight stuck to my face. “You’re going to pay for this!” Snapping my fingers, fire sprung from my fingertips and I flicked my wrist to toss the tiny flame towards him.

            “My robes!” was all I heard before the light diminished and my sight returned. When I regained my sight, I was met with Sergius’s glower and J’zargo atop his robe which was visibly singed in places.

            Sergius pointed at me and J’zargo. “Both of you. _Out_. Return when you can behave properly.”

* * *

 

            “So, when _is_ the next lecture?”

            “How should this one know?” J’zargo passed me the pipe and I took a grateful drag off of it.

            On top of the College, no one ever bothered to come up here. It was a bit cold, a bit windy. But it never failed to provide a spectacular view. _Especially_ while smoking skooma. “We should probably get back soon. It’s been a few hours and I do have some reading to get back to.” I took another drag. “At some point.”

            J’zargo laughed and jumped up. “Work is for the weak! J’zargo is the most talented mage in all of Tamriel. Just watch! One day, J’zargo will be the arch-mage of this college!” He spun with his arms out and from his palms he conjured more light and some other bright colors, shooting them up into and sky and howling happily.

            “Ha!” shooting upward myself, I flung a weak fireball into the sky. “If you’re the next arch-mage then I’m werewolf.” Running over to the edge of the tower, I braced myself on the cold, ice-covered stone and looked out over the Sea of Ghosts. “It’s so gods damned cold but the view is worth it.”

            J’zargo perched next to me, glancing out. “Much colder than home. From what this one has heard. J’zargo was raised in Cyrodiil. But his parents told him stories of Elsweyr.”

            I chortled. “ _Elsweyr_?” What kind of name is that?”

            “The kind of name that those who would enslave us think is humorous,” he replied darkly.

            Suddenly, the skooma didn’t feel strong. “Sorry,” I mumbled.

            “This one is used to it. Khajiit are resourceful, clever. Once J’zargo learns to be more powerful, he will be even more resourceful, more clever. Once this one is arch-mage, no one will think this one is weak.”

            My fingernail scraped some ice off of the stone and I bit the inside of my cheek. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… um…” no words were coming to me.

            He waved at me to dismiss my apology. “It is alright. You didn’t mean it in malice. Just ignorance.”

            From behind us we were interrupted by the sound of creaking wood. “Should have known we would find you two up here lighting up,” Brelyna’s voice announced. “You missed quite the lecture on ‘soul gem safety.’” It was hard to miss the sarcasm dripping from her words.

            “Yes, thanks for that, you two,” Onmund sat down on the stone beside me. “So, anything good happening out there? Red Mountain erupt again?”

            Brelyna shot him a look. “Maybe thousands upon thousands more of my people will be displaced and be forced to live in lovely Skyrim.”

            Onmund winced. He hadn’t meant it. But then again, I hadn’t meant to make an off-hand comment. We’d gotten better about watching our words around both the Dunmer and the Khajiit but, as Men, our thoughtlessness shone brilliantly at times. “Sorry.”

            She shrugged him off and stared off into the distance, toward Morrowind. “If you were sorry you’d stop completely. Don’t worry about it.”

            J’zargo and I exchanged looks and my hand passed him the pipe. Brelyna did this, got lost in herself. Nights where we all stayed up studying she became someone else, brightly sharing advice and keeping us on task. Outside of work though, the elf was quiet and precise with her words. The pipe ended up in my hands again.

            “So…” my fingernail scraped off more ice. “Anyone excited about passing another long night away in the Arcanaeum?”

            “What?” Onmund stretched and yawned. “You going to get into a fight with Urag? Fair warning: I think he’s probably a fair bit nastier than that Nord you scrapped with last night.”

            Rolling my eyes, I lazily spun a ball of light in my hands and tossed it back and forth. “Oh, come off of it. It’s not like any of the masters found out about it.”

            “ _This_ time,” Brelyna joined us again to mildly snap at me, her hands splayed out in disbelief. “Can you even imagine what they’d do to you and possibly _us_ by association if you’d been taken by the guard?”

            J’zargo nodded sagely, “The masters would let you spend some time in The Chill.”

            “To cool off!” Onmund laughed at his own joke before I tossed him a long-suffering look. “I couldn’t pass up the opportunity,” he shrugged.

            They were all right though. At best, I’d be hauled off far to the north. Other holds were more sensible and reasonable: they had cells and dungeons. Winterhold, on the other hand, decided that a below freezing cave guarded by frost atronachs would lock away all the undesirables. At worst? Well, I’d rather face the Chill than Mirabelle.

            Brelyna crossed her arms, shaking her head. “The _least_ you could do is wait until you’ve been linked with the College. They might be desperate for students but not so that they’d keep someone who fans the flames with the locals.”

            I hurled the ball of light off the tower. Sometimes the skooma hit hard, making it hard to stay still. Luckily, J’zargo’s experience with moon sugar combined with our collective knowledge of alchemy had allowed us to perfect a blend that would offer a pleasant high but kept us lucid enough to attend lecture if need be. Alchemy’s tedium paid off in some ways. Like now when it would have been easy to ignore what Brelyna was saying.

            “ _Fiiiine_ ,” I acknowledged. “Maybe I let my blood get the better of me last night.” Pacing back and forth, I explained, “But it’s like that every time we leave the college! Is it too much to ask for just a little time outside these walls without being harassed?”

            Onmund arched an eyebrow at me. “Well, _yes_. We’re mages.” Mimicking Tolfdir, he straightened himself up, closed his eyes, pointed a finger upward, and lowered his voice. “The college, while a part of Winterhold, is not welcomed by all. Magic, while used in Skyrim, is regarded with suspicion.” Clearing his throat, he added, “Now, where is my alembic?”

            It was widely regarded as a strange punishment if Master Tolfdir requested one of us to hunt for his alembic. Dozens upon dozens littered the college, but he had an unusual affinity for his specific set.

            I groaned. “Alright, yes. J’zargo? Would you also like to chime in, tell me the same thing in a new and creative way?”

            The Khajiit blew out the candle flame melting the moon sugar. “This one wonders if you are underestimating the seriousness of attempting to gouge out a Nord’s eyes.”

            Throwing up my hands, I stomped over to the hatch door leading back down into the stairway of the tower. “ _Thank you_.” Jerking the door upward, I let it slam as I descended down the stairs.

* * *

 

            To Oblivion with the rest of the day. I’d spent myself holed up in my room, a stack of books partially surrounding me on my bed. Some were practical like the _Herbalist's Guide to Skyrim_ and a book on conjuring a basic familiar. Quite to my surprise, I’d managed to summon a happy-looking wolf for about thirty seconds. My timepiece had proven itself to be quite useful being a mage. Arniel Gane, while a master conjurer, had dedicated his research to Dwemer artifacts. One look at the timepiece and he’d become giddy.

            Rubbing his hands together, I recall his exact words to be something like, “Daedric writing on a Dwemer artifact? I would be _more_ than happy to pay for such an unusual trinket.”

            Some mages had difficulties being subtle.

            So now I used it to time my summons. As a general rule, one minute meant mastery. After learning basic Daedric, it became easier to understand the writing. All these years, I’d been using them as general markers, but now I could see that it was marked in multiples of twos. Except for the top: the two symbols denoted both zero and twenty-four.

            But the other books? Some were about the gods. One concerned a man named Tiber Septim. Another went on at length about the Oblivion Crisis, an event where the daedra attempted to enact full-on war with this plane. To say that Mehrunes Dagons sounded terrifying was an understatement. How people ever willing got involved with the gods would forever amaze me.

            A soft knock against the wall of my room’s entrance startled me. “Nice to see you attempting to be productive,” Brelyna crossed her arms. “May I enter?”

            Returning back to the paragraph I’d left off on, I waved a hand at her, “It matters not to me.”

            “Elya, stop sulking,” she sat on the other edge of my wall of books, the shift in weight causing the stack to lean a bit before she readjusted. “Mages and wizards are supposed to be _disdainful_. You should work on that instead of being filled with blind anger.”

            I slammed my book shut. “What? Like _you_?” Snorting, I threw my arms out in disbelief. “Yes, I should be taking notes. You’ve got it down to an art.”

            The dark elf’s eyes lowered. Her long, thin face pulled down even further as she frowned. I watched her hands work on pulling a few ivory hairpins out that kept loose strays from her neck. Often Brelyna kept her dark hair in a tight bun against the nape of her neck. At a little past shoulder-length, it was thick and kinked from its bindings.

            “Admittedly, I’m probably not as kind as I could be. Especially since as fellow students, we’re supposed to be learning about magic together.” She pulled a thick-bristled brush out of her pouch and began gingerly stroking her hair. “My family is a great source of stress for me.”

            My hands grabbed a strip of parchment, folding it back and forth. Her confession tugged a little at my heart-strings.

            Without any comment on my part, she continued, “As a member of my house, magical ability is an expectation. But not all magic receives equal respect. Restoration, for example.”

            I chuckled at that. “And have you told Colette this?”

            Brelyna groaned. “Don’t get me started. It’s a good thing you decided to skip out the rest of the day because we spent the last two hours listening to her prattle on about how to heal others.”

            Through the light joking, I could tell the topic of her family discomforted her. “So, we can all agree that restoration might not rank high on the ‘magical prestige’ scale for Dunmers. What does make your family happy?”

            “Conjuration. Enchanting,” she shrugged. “I’ve got some great-great uncle or something like that who’s been alive since the days of the eruption of Red Mountain. The man’s apparently a master at enchanting and also dabbles in experimental conjuration as well. My interests in alteration and illusion pale in comparison to that sort of legacy.”

            Brelyna stopped brushing, moved some books out of the way, and twirled her index finger. “Turn around.”

            Raising an eyebrow, I still did as she asked without question. Her fingers deftly undid the thick, long braid that my own dark and unruly hair was bound in. Reaching down between my shoulder blades, I’d stopped worrying about it so much since my days in the wild. One day I’d lopped it off unevenly but it stubbornly grew back. With one of her hands holding it upward, the other ran the brush through gently.

            “Why wouldn’t you want to master enchanting?” I questioned her softly. “Not only could you be powerful but others would also seek you out for help. You could do anything.”

            Her fingers worked through a knotted section, tugging lightly. “Don’t be so disappointed in your progress in enchanting. Illusion gives me some trouble. Sure, clairvoyance seems like a useful spell but it’s only useful if you have a clear, distinct goal. How often does one wander around with that sort of thing? And Drevis _refuses_ to teach anything beyond benign things like how to bestow courage or how to calm a person.” Grunting in frustration, Brelyna stopped brushing for a moment, “What do I look like? A _nursemaid?_ You use calming spells on children!”

            Laughing, I reached back and, to my own surprise, briefly grabbed her hand. “You should learn destruction magic instead! _Nothing_ I learn from Faralda is benign.”

            Squeezing my hand back, she returned to my hair and began braiding it. “Seriously, Elya. Don’t let your emotions get the better of you. We’re all in this together. Onmund, J’zargo and I would still worry if you got thrown into the Chill.”

            “Or if Mirabelle made me clean out the chamberpots.”

            At _that_ Brelyna exploded in laughter. “Can you _image_ facing Urag knowing you’ve clean out his mess?” she sharply whispered.

            I buried my face, feeling blood rising to my cheeks in my hands. “ _Gods_ no.

            She pulled up and around a few times before securing a few hair pins into my hair. “There we go.”

            Hopping off the bed, I felt the tight bun at the base of my own neck with a braid surrounding it. Once I had the small hand mirror, I examined myself, admiring Brelyna’s handiwork. “This is truly masterful.”

            “Masterful? Ha! You’re easily impressed.”

            “What?” I turned to face her. “This is easy?”

            She scrunched her face up in confusion. “Surely your mother or father or sister or brother or _someone_ liked playing around with hair?”

            Immediately, the need to turn the conversation around presented itself. “Hair aside, I apologize for my behavior last night.” The Dunmer looked at me expectantly. “And earlier.”

            She stood up and shrugged. “It’s fine, Elya. I’m just here to remind you that we’re not all the enemy. But, I suppose, also to remind myself not to be so distant.” I watched as she proceeded to leave but then she turned around, “There is one other thing you _might_ be interested in though.”

            “Oh?”

            “Onmund mentioned something interesting in class today. Have you heard of the Midden?”

            The Midden? Had I? Searching my mind, I couldn’t recall. “Uh, no?”

            “It’s the basement of the college. Locked up. But also rumored to have some interesting secrets hiding out down there.”

            I smirked. “According to Onmund.”

            “According to Onmund,” she rolled her eyes. “We’re planning on investigating it later this week.”

            My eyes widened. “ _You?_ Did Dibella take a vow of chastity?”

            She placed her hands on her hips. “Just because I pass on smoking watered-down skooma on the roof of the college doesn’t mean I’m _completely_ averse to having a little fun.”

            “ _Sure_ ,” my mouth tried to stay somber but it kept grinning against my will. This was a bit of a surprise though. Any time we suggested exploring the college, Brelyna always had an excuse. _I’m studying._ _It’s too late. We’ve got a test tomorrow._ I kind of liked the more adventurous side of her.

            “The Midden, huh?” I tapped my lips thoughtfully in mock contemplation. “I’m there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! I've been so busy and under a lot of personal stress--thank you all so much for being patient and kind with the delay in the updates. To check on the status of whatever is going on, I've got a Tumblr set up for my writing. Find it at skyrim-fanfiction (it's about to get a major rehaul, it's a bit of a mess atm).
> 
> A lot going on in this chapter though, huh? Elya's temper is not anything new, but taking on people twice/three times her size? Well, considering she ends up taking on dragons... I guess it's not a shock. She's always biting off more than she can chew even when the odds are stack against her. It's almost as if she's... relentness? Eh? Bad title drop.
> 
> I suppose it's not as much of a shock that she's absolute crap at enchanting. We find out why in Rook of Skyrim but it's still painful to write about. I've definitely had school subjects that made me sick to my stomach because I knew I was going to be bad at it but was still forced to push through it anyway.
> 
> And Brelyna. Oh, her and Elya. It breaks my heart to write about their friendship, closeness, and love for one another knowing what I have to do to them. But it's still nice to write about times where Rook had people that she felt like she could rely on and trust.
> 
> This chapter is also setting up for the next phase: The Midden. A couple of things could happen so feel free to speculate.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's left kudos and comment--I have to skip the specific shout outs because I'm rushing to get this update out as well as a chapter for Leading the Blind (the sequel to Rook of Skyrim). It's only one chapter in so we're getting off on the ground floor.
> 
> Thanks for reading! -Ash


	10. Arc I: Chapter 4

Snapping my fingers and exhaling a terse whistle, I nodded towards my familiar which was sniffing around a pile of damp, molding rags that were stuffed into the corner of a dilapidated shelf. When it didn’t respond, I called out, “Hey! To me!”

            The ghostly-formed wolf whipped its head in my direction, looked like it was going to turn around, and then suddenly howled in pain. In an instant, it crackled with brief electricity and left this plane. I sighed, checked my timepiece.

            “Forty-three seconds,” I shoved it back into a pouch on my belt. “That’s what I get for ordering it around.”

            Brelyna stood by my side with her arms crossed and nodding thoughtfully. “It looked stable enough. Definitely distracted the wraiths for us.”

            The pile of glittering ash dulled as some sort of spectral dust swirled around it. “Daedra for you. Can’t work with them, can’t work without them.”

            “I suppose not. But what now? You want to see if Onmund and J’zargo have had any better luck?”

            Shrugging, I kicked the pile of what used to be my summon. “Complicated” was a _nice_ way of describing the Midden; filled with cobwebs, ice wraiths, and some skeletons that refused to stay dead, the basement was not meant to be welcoming or habitable. The caved in section we faced wasn’t the first dead end we’d hit and probably wouldn’t be the last. Between the dead ends and the damp chill that lingered between unpleasant and freezing, I almost believed we’d underestimated our abilities. Sure, our preliminary research examinations were in a couple of weeks, but we were still just learning. The Midden tested the very limits of what abilities we _did_ have.   
            “Let’s finish exploring this last section first.” I shrugged, my hands going out to offer what little care I had invested in this trip to her. “I’m freezing, it’s late, and we’ve _got_ to spend some time in the Arcanaeum tomorrow morning.”

            We both began to walk in the last, unexplored area. Brelyna prodded me playfully with her elbow, smiling. “Well, well, well. _Someone_ is sounding _very_ responsible.”

            I rolled my eyes. “Yes, yes. I suggest we study and you agree we explore some creepy basement filled with gods-know-what. What _is_ this plane coming to?”

            She hooked her arm in with mine, “Elya, you are never happy, are you?”

            “ _Me_?” I practically screeched, the echo of my disbelief carrying far enough that if something heard us, it would know exactly where to look. “I’m happy. _I’m thrilled!_ See?” I barred my teeth in an exaggerated smile. Quickly, I let it go flat. “Coming down here was a big waste of my time. There’s been nothing interesting here and—”

            I stopped dead in my tracks, causing Brelyna to bump into me. “What’s that for?”

            Pointing at the wall in front of us, I whispered, “ _Namira’s stench_.”

            Brelyna cocked her head. “Um. Uh-huh.” She squinted. “Well, it’s moss, not Namira’s _rot_. Perhaps you should reread your basic botany guide again. You’re even getting the name wrong for Azura’s sake.”

            “No, no no. Not a _fungus_. A _door_ ,” I broke away from her and dug my fingers into the slimy, stringy mass.

            “A door? I really don’t—” as I tore away the last bits of moss that I could, Brelyna saw what I had seen: bones. “Oh.”

            Taking a step back to be aligned with her, we were unable to tear our eyes away from the design. A chipped and degraded skull was the centerpiece of the creation, around its crown splayed out five, bony hands reaching out in five different directions. Disturbingly, from the underside of the skull, laid only four sets of arm bones radially placed and bent slightly at each elbow.

            “Straight from Vaermina,” I shook my head. “Wonder how it opens?”

            Brelyna gave me an incredulous look. “You want to _open_ it?”

            “This is the basement of a mage’s college. You can’t possibly have me believe there’s something _that_ bad in there.”

            She shook her head, a hand covering her eyes. “I apologize but do you _not_ see the very strange and foreboding arrangement of bones? Why is _that_ in the basement of a mage’s college? I am fairly certain this wasn’t someone’s afternoon art project.”

            “We have a necromancer here. Why not?”

            “And necromancy, I think we’ve all collectively agreed is for the strange and perverted.”

            “Okay, fair point,” I conceded. Phinis Gestor would more than likely end up being one of my masters but no one could miss the unmistakable dark bags under his eyes. One could attribute the discoloration to long nights of study but all of the other mages did so and they still appeared normal; out of them all, he was the only one who openly admitted to practicing necromancy. “Still though. Why would they keep anything out?”

            “Out? You ever consider the possibility they’re keeping something _in_?”

            I smirked. “You’re the one who’s into alteration spells. You think you can detect any life in there?”

            “Elya, that’s an adept-level spell at the very least—”

            “And you’re very adept,” I interrupted. “C’mon. It’ll be good practice.”

            She eyed me before beginning to concentrate. “This door hasn’t been open in ages from the looks of it. The only thing alive in there is going to be spiders and…”

            I saw it. Her eyes popped open, sensing what I had already witnessed. A bright flash of red, albeit weak and brief. A chill ran up my spine. “There’s no way there’s something alive in there.”

            “N-no,” she stuttered, shaking her head. “I’m not adept enough. It’s me.”

            Before we could discuss the door any further, a sudden _whoosh_ caught my attention and I looked down to see a cylindrical collection of slow-moving, light purple mist connected to both of us. “Looks like Onmund decided to find us instead.”

            Brelyna kicked at the light, testing its strength, “Looks like they’re still a bit too far for us to be moving. Let’s just wait here. Don’t want his strength to wane with us acting as moving targets.”

            I took out my timepiece again and kicked the light myself. “Alright then, a spell this strong means it should take less than two minutes to reach us.”

            It took them two minutes and ten seconds. “Well, looks like you guys ended up in a fun place,” Onmund smiled, gesturing towards the door.

            I ignored him. “You guys get lost? Took you a long time. Thought with that spell as strong as you had it going, you were closer to us.”

            Onmund patted a satchel he carried over one shoulder and across his chest. “Link felt stronger than it was. But I brought extra potions, just for this sort of thing.”

            “This little trip has been tiring for this one,” J’zargo agreed. “But we have found something _very_ interesting.”

            Brelyna arched a brow, “More interesting than a macabre door that screams, ‘Don’t enter’?”

            “Oh, far beyond it,” Onmund waved her off.

            I moaned and complained at every step we were forced to backtrack. J’zargo wistfully begged Brelyna to try out a paralysis spell on my mouth. She chastised him but didn’t seem wholly against the idea and, were she capable of it in the future, I wondered if she’d actually take him up on his suggestion.

            Our boots became freshly soaked upon trudging through more snow and ice. There were more stairs to climb. A stray skeever crossed our paths and I hurled a fireball at it. The smell of charred rodent made me scrunch up my nose. We began to pass a small room that contained a large, circular platform that was surrounded by candles.

            “Oh, wow,” Brelyna began to whisper.

            “Not _that_ ,” Onmund put his hands behind each of our backs and gently pushed us to continue forward.

            “We’ve no idea what it’s supposed to do but it looks like something for expert conjurers, based on the _oht_ in the middle,” J’zargo gave me a pointed look. “But, uninteresting at the moment.”

            “Ugh,” I threw my hood back over my head, “If I’d known we’d be down here for another eternity waiting on whatever alchemical ingredient you two found, I’d have brought a thick coat.”

            Onmund pointed down another long corridor of stairs that led much further down than we’d previously been. “We’re almost there and I promise, Elya, this is much more exciting than fire salts.”

            I squinted at him, hoping to look menacing but probably appeared more chilled than anything else. A quick jab at the time I ate fire salts was pretty low. “I didn’t know they’d be _that_ spicy, for the thousandth time.”

            J’zargo chuckled, “This one thought it was hilarious the way you shoved an entire half loaf of bread into your mouth.”

            Before I could comment, we were met with an alchemy table that looked functional. “Does someone use this now?” I reached out for the book on the table, _De Rerum Dirennis_. I skimmed it, finding nothing of interest but I shoved it into the large satchel I carried to read later.

            “Maybe some of the researchers do extra work down here?” Brelyna offered.

            Onmund was quick to hurry us again, “It’s not much further; stop getting worked up over small, silly things!”

            As my feet struggled to match his pace, I argued, “Onmund, there’s undead that roam around here, a creepy door with something living behind it despite not seeming to have been opened recently, and you think finding a working lab and strange conjurer’s tool small and silly?”

            “Oh, compared to this? Yes.”

            We rushed past another empty room with steps leading down to piles of bones when he suddenly asked us to stop, holding the handle of a door. “Brace yourselves.” And with that, he threw the door open.

            From this distance, it looked like half an arm with a hand attached in the middle of a summoning circle. I jumped, “Namira’s shit!” My hands found Brelyna’s arm and she shot me a look. “What?”

            “It’s not _real_ ,” she replied flatly. “Look, just some sort of… I dunno. Onmund? J’zargo?”

            But the two were already inside. “I guess it’s safe?”

            We both entered the room and I started taking stock. There was a skeleton with blood stains generously spread around it near the strange appendage. It was made of medal and clawed at the ends of each finger. Resting on top of a candled alter, I traced the glowing _oht_ in the cup of its palm. “Definitely some sort of summoning spell,” I concluded. “Look at the circles around this alter. Four openings and at each end of a section of closed circle, a spherical edging.” Reaching down to examine the circle itself, my fingers felt the stone. “Polished?” I announced, a bit surprised. “Someone went to great lengths to get this right.”

            “Or some _ones_ , “Brelyna commented. “Lots of skeletons littering this place.”

            “Ah, yes,” J’zargo reached into his own satchel. “But we found this in here.”

            Brelyna took the book from him and I continued to examine the strange alter. Something felt… _off_ about it.

            “Well, this is cheery reading.”

            I finally met the three of them over by a table that was littered with more than one skeleton. Looking over her shoulder, I cringed, “These are dead _students_?”

            “Appears so.” Onmund continued, “All suffered from severe conjurer’s burns, left to rot here.”

            I shuddered visibly this time. Conjurer’s burns were the stuff of magic-gone-wrong horror stories and this-is-why-safety-lessons-are-critical lectures. Bubbled skin, peeling flesh. Whole faces and arms deformed permanently. Or, in the case of these four, death.

            “They couldn’t _remove_ this thing?” Brelyna glanced at the relic. “What in Oblivion _is_ it?”

            “Oh, it gets better,” J’zargo whipped something out from a pouch attached to his belt. “A key.”

            “To what?” I asked, eyeing him.

            Brelyna closed the book. “No way. _No._ ”

            Quickly shifting my suspicious gaze from him to her, I asked again, “What?”

            “You,” she pointed at Onmund. “And you,” she pointed at J’zargo. “Are mad.”

            I groaned. “Give me the damn thing,” I snatched the book from her and flipped through the pages. “Dead students, attempting a summon, yes, yes…. Can’t move the relic, yes. _Oh._ Rings? In the Arcanaeum?”

            Onmund held up four fingers. “One, two, three, and four. Just think: if these rings were powerful enough to attempt whatever this summon was, maybe they have great power! If we had those rings, we would be experts in no time!”

            Brelyna crossed her arms, frowned. Her red eyes narrowed, “You have no way of knowing that. This could be suicide. Aren’t the remains of the dead warning enough?”

            J’zargo rolled his eyes, outstretched a palm. “Why else would they need four rings to set upon the relic?” Then, as if to strengthen his claim, nodded towards me. “Right?”

            Great. Between the four of us, _I_ was the one studying conjuration as my primary line of research and practice so _I_ was the expert here. What a joke. But I gave the idea some consideration, flipped back through the pages again. “Pithi, Treoy, Balwen, and Katarina,” I read the list of names that someone had recorded. “Well… I can’t say yes or no.”

            “Why not?” Onmund sounded crushed.   
            I made a thoughtful sound. “All of you know how to conjure a small familiar, right?”

            I received a mix of “barely” and “sure” and “why does that matter?”

            Sighing, I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Our reviews are coming up soon—have all of you skipped practicing conjuring? Let’s have a study session in the middle of this dungeon, shall we? Conjuration is meant to connect the summoner’s mind with the thing to be summoned. Much more tricky than a simple life force manipulation. You’re literally using an item of this plane to lure something from Oblivion and hold its attention long enough to either dismiss it or it is ripped back to its home plane. Quite a tenuous link.”

            Brelyna motioned towards me, “See? Those rings are meant to be a snare, they hold no power!”

            “Wait,” I held up a hand. “I’m not finished. Normally, when we summon something, we’re using the strength of our magicka link to lure in weak creatures. That link strengthens each time we practice; in turn, the lure becomes more attractive. Something like this?” I pointed to the relic and the summoning circle. “With four people, four very attractive lures, and eight openings to Oblivion in the circle, there’s no telling how many times those rings were affected by the strengthening of links. It’s a sort of roundabout and ineffective way to enchant things, much less safe with all that power running around. As made evident by all these bones.”

            “So those rings _could_ be immensely powerful, “J’zargo offered.

            Looking at him and then at Brelyna, I shook my head. “There’s literally no way of knowing without checking the rings out and, wouldn’t you know? They’re locked up in the Arcanaeum. With _Urag_.”

            Brelyna sighed. “And I doubt that he’s just going to give us these rings. In fact, the moment we mention we know anything about this incident, we’re all going to be in such deep trouble, they’ll probably refuse to give us our final examinations until _next year._ I can’t wait for an entire year for my review!”

            It sounded like a bad idea. A _very_ bad idea. No certain benefits, definite and real consequences that were not pleasant. A possible run-in with Urag. But I continued to mull it over. What if a ring could help me with my deficits in enchanting? Boost what I _could_ do? No matter how enticing any of that sounded, there was no telling how long ago the rings had been sealed away or where they were located. For all we knew, Urag had gotten rid of them long ago.  
            But at that moment, J’zargo held up a key. “Ah, but we know it’s locked up _somewhere_ because we have the key.  
            I could feel my eyes widen, my fingers stretching out to curl around the cold metal. “A chest.”

            The dark elf eyed me. “And how _exactly_ do you know _that_?”

            My hands examined the key, turning it around and considering its shape. “Keys to the glass book cabinets are smaller and made of a darker metal. Keys to lockboxes usually have two teeth, inset deeper than these. Unless Urag is keeping something strange device to keep those rings locked up, this is to a chest.”

            Onmund let out a low, long whistle. “Impressive. J’zargo was right about you.”

            My gaze whipped up to meet both his and J’zargo’s eyes. “Explain.”

            “J’zargo is Khajiit. There is no Khajiit alive who doesn’t know the look of a thief in someone’s eyes.”

            I swallowed, my heart pounding. “It’s late and this is a long story.”

* * *

 

            The next morning the four of us sat around the dining table in the hall while I simultaneously sliced an apple and gave a somewhat believable version of my childhood to now. “My parents weren’t around much when I was a child. And I was a little… rambunctious.”

            “A little?” Brelyna asked between bites of her grapes.

            “Shut up,” I stuffed some apple into my mouth. “And sho I deshided to try my hanth at a little theft.” I swallowed. “And I guess I decided to keep with it, see how far I could take it. I got into some trouble so I was sent here.”

            True enough. For the most part.

            “Ah, J’zargo knew it!” The Khajiit looked proud of his assessment. I wasn’t going to spend any time making this any harder than it needed to be. Let him be proud.

            “Does that mean you’ll be up to the task of finding the rings?” Onmund asked.

            “I’ll need someone to distract Urag with lots of annoying and tedious questions. _Lots_. He watches that place like a hawk. Worse, if it’s any one of us _but_ Brelyna, he’ll suspect something.”

            “ _Great_ ,” she rested her head in her hand, propped up by her elbow. “Figures I’d be the one roped into something I was _vehemently_ against from the start.”

            “It’ll be easy. You keep him busy with things to occupy his attention away from where I’m working and I’ll rummage around. Easy.” I did my best to make it sound like no big deal even though the threat of Urag terrified me. Eventually, my need for the thrill of theft was getting the better of me.

            Onmund, J’zargo, and Brelyna argued quietly at length about timing, potions, and punishment distribution if we were caught. Part of the thrill was in _not_ getting caught but it was agreed between the three of them that I would take the fall if all went badly.  
            “Well, thank you for your generosity,” I grumbled. “What friends I have.”

            “You don’t have to do this,” Brelyna pointed out. “Besides, if Urag figures out that I’m part of it, I’ll be punished.”

            I glared at her, mouth set flat. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

            “This one can think of no other way except this ending. Onmund and J’zargo need to stay away or the orc will be suspicious. Why willingly put our heads on the chopping block if there is no need?”

            The list of reasons as to why I _shouldn’t_ be doing this just kept piling on top of one another. “Fine,” I conceded. If there was anything I’d learned about from my time with Pavo, it was about making sure that the rewards of a dangerous job were given out based on who did what. “Before we begin, I want twenty Septims from each of you. After, if I’m not caught, I want all of you to come with me back to the Midden. I want to try whatever summon went wrong.”

            At _that_ all three of them began yelling.

            “Are you _mad?_ ”

            “We could die!”

            “No way.”

            I shook my head, unyielding. “I suppose that’s the cost.” I popped another apple slice into my mouth, chewing thoughtfully while all of them tried to reach an agreement in hushed tones. There was some major amount of disagreement from Brelyna but eventually they returned with their conclusion. All three of them reached into their satchels and slid twenty Septims toward me. I deftly stacked all of them.

            My finger rubbed across the symbol of the empire, the words _Praise be Akatosh and all the Divines._ I shouldn’t be doing this. Not for sixty gold and possible death. But how many times had I turned over a coin? I had both sides memorized, could tell anyone about each crease of Septim’s face. But it _had_ been a while since I felt the thrill of theft. Trying to complete that summon, if we could pull it off, would definitely prove myself despite my complete incompetence at enchanting. If it all went _right_ then the rewards would be worth the risk.

            “Well, then. Let’s finish breakfast and hit the books.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've started the Forgotten Names questline! Well, with some modifications. Much like in Rook of Skyrim, the quests are meant to tie events or people together (or be foundations for future events). You'll notice that the spooky locked door might be a hint of events to come at the College if you've gotten through the main one. And what about Elya and Brelyna's relationship? How much does THAT sting? It's probably not an accident that Rook likes Teldryn--in some ways, a lot of the ways he interacts and talks to her probably reminds her of Brelyna without her knowing it. Especially the back and forth between them and Rook.
> 
> Rook can't quite seem to get thieving out of her blood, can she? Maybe a better moniker for her would have been Magpie but I don't think her father thought his only daughter would end up enjoying stealing things from others (although I'd argue that living alone with no sure source of anything probably nurtured that more than anything). Wonder what gets her into the assassin life? But now her friends know that she has something they want to exploit and, perhaps, Rook will remember this years from now... oh, the events to come.
> 
> Thanks to some lovely guests who've left kudos!
> 
> if you feel like seeing what Rook looks like, I've had some art drawn for her! Check out skyrim-fanfiction on tumblr and check out the tags "Rook" or "elya ashwing." I'll be redoing the site soon with more art of her (and hopefully more HEP stuff!). 
> 
> Next chapter? Forgotten Names continues... with explosive results! Thanks for reading! -Ash


	11. Arc 1: Chapter 5

We ate in silence for the remainder of our meal. A part of my past that I wanted to keep behind me had dragged its way into this chapter of my life. If my friends could benefit from it, then I should be able to get something out of it as well. They needed to be aware that they couldn’t just ask me to do something without a cost.

            Early morning light streamed through the courtyard, making the snow glitter. I yawned and nestled into my heavy coat a little deeper. The mild wind didn’t have the bite that it usually had late at night but it still had sharp teeth. My mind walked myself through the Arcanaeum, picturing each turn and placement of the furniture. How many chests were out in the open? At least five and I knew for certain one in the far right towards the back only held spare parchment.

            “All of you, a bit closer to me,” I whispered. They complied, huddling in nearer to me. “Once we’re in, act as if we always do. Don’t ask me anything, don’t look at me. Let me take care of searching. J’zargo, Onmund. Whatever plans you had for studying, keep to them. Brelyna, you too, except I need you to ask for the most obscure texts possible. If need be, express your concerns about review examinations coming up. I’ll be studying, getting books and putting them back. I’ll time out going through the chests when Urag is occupied.”

            “What if we see him coming towards you, looking at you? Should we give some sort of signal?” J’zargo asked.

            “Good point,” Brelyna made a thoughtful noise. “Onmund, you’re always slamming books. Just do that.”

            Onmund’s eyes widened. “Urag’s told me that for every book I slam, he’s going to make me eat parchment. _I do not think he’s joking_.”

            “Then laugh! Cry! Do _something_ to get his attention.”

            The Nord rolled his eyes. “I’ll keep a copy of _The Lusty Argonian Maid_ beside me.”

            The doors to the staircase leading to the Arcanaeum lay in front of us. “And if it all goes bad, just act surprised. If it looks like you three don’t know, then you’ll be off the hook. I can take care of myself.”

            They agreed and we walked up as we’d done for months now. We settled into our favorite seats, pulled out our reading lists. Onmund and J’zargo were good about acting as if this wasn’t happening, Brelyna got up to find a book and returned to her seat. Urag grunted at something he was doing. I could feel my heart beating in my throat but also felt a familiar, bubbly sensation rising in my blood. Brelyna walked over to a bookcase, began searching, kept looking up and down from shelf to list. I watched her frown and then called over Urag.

            As soon as he had his attention towards her, I slid out of my seat to begin searching a chest on the opposite side of the room. Carrying books with me to provide some explanation for my search, I walked over and quickly knelt down to the lock. My fingers found the key in small pocket of my robes and I listened to Brelyna ask Urag some more questions. This was the tricky part. Or as Pavo always put it, “Here’s the part where you’ll get caught.” The key quietly clicked. Here’s hoping the chest didn’t creak too loudly. My palms braced against the edge, pushed lightly upwards. _Just_ enough to slip my hand in so that I could see. My fingers found books, a pouch that held charcoal. Nothing more. My heart settled enough so that I could reshut the chest, lock it back. I replaced my books, grabbed some more, and returned to my seat.

            J’zargo briefly glanced at me and I glared at him. It had to be at least ten minutes before Brelyna walked to the other side of the room and repeated the process. I followed suit and made my way to another chest. Watching Urag and Brelyna talk from the other side of the room from the corner of my eye, I felt my nerves shake inside of me. But still, there was this feeling at the core of me, the promise of a thrill. This chest though, it was going to be a bastard.

            It wasn’t budging, the hinges a bit rusted. I spit onto my fingers. They furiously rubbed at them and a bit of rust caked onto my fingertips. I tried again. No luck. My heart raced. Shit shit shit.

            “Well, if you need anything else, just ask,” Urag gruffed. “You always do.”

            Oh, Akatosh. _Screw you_. “C’mon,” I mouthed to the chest. Scrambling to find a bit of potion in my satchel, I prepared to stand back up and look at some books. Instead, I heard Onmund give out a _horrendous_ sounding laugh. Urag was quick to race over to reprimand him. While Onmund kept laughing, I quickly pushed the chest open and scanned the contents: another book, some more charcoal. My fingers came across a pouch and I felt the outlines of something that felt like rings.

            I snatched them. Closed the chest. Locked it again.

            By the time Urag was done kicking out Onmund for the next two days, I was back in my seat and back to reading. I let out a sigh, a giddy feeling overtaking me.

            Brelyna slid me a note.

            _Hope that was worth it._

* * *

 

            The four of us sat around the table, four ordinary rings staring at us.

            Onmund grumbled unintelligibly to himself. Despite not risking his neck and only getting a minor punishment, his displeasure was made evident that the ring’s promise of magical boost was broken. I ignored him but I still had to convince the three of them that they were still under their own commitments.

            “This was the deal we had. I get the rings and you guys help me with this summon.”

            Brelyna tapped a quill against an inkwell. She’d been writing notes regarding what could go wrong. “Yes. We _know_.”

            “These rings are useless to us,” J’zargo mumbled. “How is J’zargo supposed to become the Arch-Mage if he is dead?”

            I snatched Brelyna’s notes. My hands brought the parchment comically close to my face as I squinted my eyes. “You’re kidding me. ‘Casting sickness?’ We all got over that in the first two weeks.”

            “But what if it’s more dangerous and severe this time?” she hissed. “Elya, this is _way_ over our heads. Those students? I looked them up yesterday in the Arcanaeum, hoping Urag wouldn’t get suspicious. They were students in their year of _independent research._ Advanced students. _Specializing_ in conjuration. At best, _you’re_ the best we’ve got, Elya. My focus is in enchanting and conjuration so that might help. Onmund? Illusion and enchanting. J’zargo? Destruction and alteration.”

            I slammed a palm against the table, causing her to jump. “Then we’ve wasted our time here! Enchanting is practically related to conjuration; one of them summons souls and the other traps them to this plane. Illusion? Changing the perception of the world from the viewpoint of the target. The target here? This plane. We’re changing its perception to weaken the lines between this plane and the next. Alteration? We literally _alter_ the laws of reality and manipulate them to our whim! Luckily, none of us decided to buy into Colette’s madness. We’re _perfect_ for this.”

            To be honest, I was pretty impressed with myself. Even _I_ believed there was no chance of us dying. But looking around, I could tell that I had done better than just sound good. Onmund, J’zargo, and Brelyna all appeared a little more convinced.  Instead of sitting back down, I made eye contact with each of them, hoping to further solidify my convictions in them.

            “ _Fine_ ,” Onmund threw up his hands. “Let’s take a few nights to do our research, figure out the best sigils, incantations, and objects that might help.”

            J’zargo nodded. “This one thinks he remembers seeing something about an alteration spell that might aid us.”

            “And I’ve got an experimental book on using conjuration methods with illusion spells,” Brelyna mused. “It would be nice to try something out…”

            I arched an eyebrow towards her. “First, you’re worried about casting sickness and now you’re wanting to try your hand at experimental magic.”

            She shrugged. “Well, if we’re going to do it, we might as well use all the tools in our satchel.”

            So we retired to our rooms. Since coming to the college months and months ago, my room had become my sanctuary. Sparsely decorated, it was mostly a pile of books and papers and tools. The closet held my thick coat, bought from Winterhold’s only supply shop, and a couple of spare robes I’d bought. Gold wasn’t exactly something that came my way very often. With no family to send money, I was stuck selling potions. So my shelves had a supply of used bottles and stoppers that I often collected, cleaned. My off-time was spent collecting snowberries and the bones of dead animals to grind into bone meal. A little time, some boiled water spiked with a bit of magic, and I had a big batch of resist fire potions.

            And _very_ strong hands. Gods. Grinding bones was such a pain.

            Birna and Ranmir were quite the pair. Birna owned the Oddments shop but Ranmir drank away what Birna _could_ sell. Together with the lack of people living here, it wasn’t like she was making a killing to begin with. So Ranmir and I had an arrangement of sorts: I’d give him potions and he, in turn, would sell the things to the local guard at the Frozen Hearth. They’d pay him and he’d give me a cut. Because I knew how the Nords already felt about me, I didn’t press for what the cut was. Based on what he gave me and what I produced, I guessed less than thirty percent. I’d sell directly to the local guards but Birna would sometimes give me store credit if I found better ingredients and made better potions. Once she paid me with a strange, claw-shaped item made of coral. On its underside there were small coins with symbols on them, animals: a snake, a wolf, and a moth.

            It made absolutely no sense but I’d kept it.

            Flopping on my bed, I stretched out my limbs and let out an exasperated sigh.

            I’d finally gotten everyone on board but there was still more work to be done. I just needed to find something. Without hesitation, I snapped my fingers and a _whoosh_ of void sprang from my thumb and middle finger. Immediately, a happy-looking Oblivion hound sat before me, panting and wagging its tail.

            My head rolled over to give it a long-suffering gaze. “It’s creepy how much you look like a real dog.”

            It barked at me, still content.

            “I’m told that I always summon you and no other hound and that’s why you’ll stay on this plane longer if I summon you more often. Is that true or am I just getting stronger in trapping a different hound here each time? Maybe you have masters who miss you once I kidnap you to Nirn.”

            It replied with a happy stare, its ethereal aura bouncing off each of its motions.

            “I had a dog once,” I stared up at the ceiling, bidding it to come to one of my hands so I could scratch it behind the ears. Another hallmark of a good conjurer: increased corporeality and physicality. Or in folk speak, the more solid the thing feels. “We were very close.”

            The hound tilted its head back, eyes closed. I glanced at my stack of conjuration books.   _Feyfolken II_ , _I was Summoned by a Mortal,_ _Secrets Overheard in Apocrypha, The Origins of Conjuration,_ and—what kind of a mage would I be without the a basics— _Principles of Conjuration_.

            “Well, I know you don’t like commands but let’s see if you can bring me that book,” I pointed to _Principles_.

            While it turned from me, I closed my eyes and concentrated. Commands with daedric _anything_ were hard. First, they’d been pulled from their home onto another plane without warning. Second, they had no idea _who_ pulled them there. I’d heard stories from Phinis about undead running from casters in fear. So to get _something_ to at least stay here a while is impressive in itself. But I was determined. I felt the hound tug at my magicka link with such a force that it hurt a bit. My muscles tightened, my throat constricted a bit. But the hound was still here. Good sign. But just as it turned with the book in its mouth, it disappeared the way it always did. The book fell into the pile of spectral ash, just out of reach.

            “Damn it.”

            My body squirmed, my fingers wiggled and I did my best to pretend that I understood the readings on telekinesis. I was much better at pushing things away than pulling them towards me. Not great at it but more proficient. J’zargo was always pulling items toward him while we ate instead of asking us to pass things. The book moved a fraction but slid down the small mound of ash. I flailed my arm out, trying to expend no more energy than I already had. But I had to give in and I eventually swung my leg out to drag it towards me.

            “Ah, yes. My _favorite_ book.”  
  
            I flipped through it quickly, thumbing through the well-worn pages and skimming over words that I’d seen at least one hundred times over. Then my eye caught something. “‘Success in formulating safe and reliable conjuration spells comes from my system of defining such magics as always having two essential and interlocking components: a summoning incantation and a binding rune. It is the latter part, of course, that protects the conjurer from the entity or item summoned by enthralling it to the summoner.’”

            Huh. I’d never summoned anything that ever called for the use of a binding rune. Well, not yet anyway. My understanding was that after our review examinations, if we passed, we’d gain our marks. The marks themselves were to bind a student to the college, so that any mage could see where one studied. But, Phinis once explained that if I chose to pursue conjuration, binding runes wouldn’t be something I would have to worry about for a long time.

            “The marks serve another purpose for those who need a permanent connection to Oblivion,” he mashed a thumb in the cup of his left palm and a thin web of lines spread and formed a mark that glowed faintly green. Turning his palm over, he revealed to me an _oht_ within a circle and many other complicated symbols. “You are your own binding rune; you use your own soul.”

            And the reasoning for that? Within the next paragraph of the book.

            “‘Heretofore conjuration has been quite a dangerous pursuit due to the fact that a conjuring wizard had to cast summoning and binding as two separate spells, and if the binding was miscast or cast too slowly, the conjurer might pay for the error with his life.’”

            A mark was a way to combine the summoning spell and binding rune into one action. But that couldn’t be the major failure of those students. They were well past gaining their marks. Well, if they had been marked correctly, that is. I leapt out of bed with the book in hand, practically racing to Brelyna’s room where I found her brushing her shiny black hair.

            “You look excited about something.”

            “You said you looked up those students, correct?” I pointed the closed book at her.

            She continued to brush, eyes closed and getting lost in the ritual of the activity. “Yes. But obviously you’re wanting something specific about them.”

            My fingers tripped over themselves as I found the page mentioning the summoning incantation and the binding rune. “It would be helpful to know if any of them were marked as conjurers. Sinister or dexter, matters not.”

            Stopping what she was doing, Brelyna leaned over and picked up a book off of a pile beside her. I waited for her to pull out a piece of paper, look it over, and then shake her head. “Well, color me impressed. Not one of them had a conjurer’s mark. How’d you guess that?”

            “Remember what Phinis said about summoning and binding when it comes to conjuration?”

            She raised an eyebrow at me. “Not to worry about the binding until we were practically made of dust because learning how to create a proper binding rune takes decades?”

            “Okay, I don’t need you to cut my link before I’ve had a chance to cast,” I rolled my eyes and closed the book. “That’s what went wrong. No binding runes.” I tossed her the book. “Basic conjuration mistake for an advanced problem.”

            Brelyna eyed me suspiciously as she skimmed the book. “Elya. Do you _know_ how much work it would take to create a binding rune? Between the four of us, only you and I know something about it. Of which, I’d like to remind you, we know _nothing._ ”

            I threw up my hands and ran a hand down my face. “We’re in a gods damned college for mages! Are you telling me there’s not a single book that we could use?”

            She closed her eyes, sighed, and patted the space on her bed beside her. I willingly complied, undoing the braid I’d tried to tame my wild dark hair with. It was now well past my shoulders, it’s curled ends a tangled mass. Brelyna sat behind me while she brushed my hair, gently undoing any loose knots with her experienced fingers.

            “Why does this mean so much to you?” her voice asked softly.

            I bit the inside of my cheek. Brelyna was good at _everything_ , even if she didn’t want to disappoint her family by studying alteration and illusion. Enchanting? It was something so simple that even non-mages could master it for a quick Septim and here I was risking my life in the hopes I wouldn’t have to pass an enchanting test. But we’d done this more than once over the last few months. Maybe she wouldn’t find me foolish.

            “I thought that if we succeeded then my failures elsewhere wouldn’t be a glaring blemish.” My face still felt hot after that omission.

            “Ah,” she began. But nothing more was said.

            Instead I focused on the gentle motions of the brush, our quiet breathing, and the hush that seemed to have taken over the Hall of Attainment. We never planned these sorts of times. They just happened and I cherished them greatly.

            “But you realize that you and I will be solely responsible then? It’s not just you anymore.”

            “All four of you wanted me to play the part of the thief and this is what I asked for in return,” I grumbled. She’d interrupted my enjoyment with a word I didn’t want to hear.

            “You know what the Dunmer call thieves?”

            Without missing a beat, I replied, “ _Fetcher_. Although, I’ve been called other nice things as well by Dunmer.”

            Brelyna laughed at that. “Stole from dark elves? Brave. We aren’t the type to easily trust Men anyway. I’m sure some of them will never forget your face.”

            Her talk of my past and Mer linguistics was getting on my last nerve. We needed to get to work on this now if we were going to work together. Quickly, I turned around and grabbed the brush. “Brelyna. The answer is either yes or no.” I didn’t break contact with her eyes, my face not even a foot away. “I know that this is the solution and I know that we can fix this.”

            She bit her lip and casted her eyes downward. Slowly, she laid the brush on her lap.

            “Fine,” her voice less enthusiastic than it was defeated.

* * *

 

            Another late, cold night in the Midden and we were having to relight candles left and right. J’zargo had enough salt and charcoal to supply an army and Onmund was busying himself with final preparations. More sigils, he’d said. The more, the better to bend this to our favor. Brelyna and I sat bent over a pile of books that we’d read at least fifty times in the past three nights. The lines had to be right. The daedric letters had to be just so. I’d spent time researching proper binding rune solutions and chemicals; my efforts included spending an extra three hours slaving over a mortar and pestle while reading incantations written in ancient Mer dialect from the Direnni clan. The results were a tiny inkwell with just enough of the chemical to create a binding rune for Brelyna and myself but that was it.

            I dipped the quill gingerly back into the inkwell and concentrated on my left hand, the flickering light a growing cause of concern. “So,” I looked up at Brelyna briefly. “Do you think that enchanting pattern will shield us sufficiently if we stand outside the circles?”

            Hunched over a book, she would intermittently get up and draw more patterns and symbols on the polished stone. Her blend of chemical solution was a bit more sinister as it required blood. All of us contributed with the exception that I couldn’t cut my palms as I needed them to make the runes. I had to cut my thigh instead and prayed to Akatosh that a quick healing spell was enough for it. J’zargo pointed out I could have just done the same with my palms but I wanted nothing to interfere with the runes.

            “Well, _we_ can stand outside the circle. You’re going to have to be right next to the relic.”

            I winced but didn’t argue. We weren’t experienced mages. Any bit of help we could get was needed. “Right.” I drew another line carefully, blowing on it. Reciting some words, the lines seemed to glow faintly green. “Well. Looks like it’s going better than it did during the practice runs.”

            Onmund scratched on the walls with more charcoal, mumbling to himself and waving his hand spare hand once in a while. Changing perception often required a bit of misdirection. He finished off with a final flourish and the lines all glowed pleasantly orange.

            Salt outlined each of the polished stone circles. The Khajiit used one exposed claw to draw intricate designs into each thick line, also whispering to himself. He’d used a generous amount of charcoal to draw symbols of protection to give us increased resistance to whatever might happen. “No guarantees as to how good this will shield us,” he kindly would remind us each time he went to check on them.

            Brelyna went over to talk to Onmund, pointing at a line he’d made. I envied the way that either of them could step away from all of this, go back home to their families. Despite J’zargo’s mild complaints, even if those two decided to walk away right now, I suspected that he would stay. The promise of a great show of power was too great for him to simply walk away. Not out of any loyalty to me but it was nice to know that I could count on J’zargo to always think about himself. Wordlessly, all of us glanced at one another and nodded.

            “Well, now or never,” walking over to the relic, I snapped my fingers to summon my familiar. Brelyna had suggested that beginning with a weaker tie to Oblivion might ease the transition into… well, whatever it was we were about to do.

            The four rings sat cold in my palm, barely illuminated by the candlelight around us. The relic’s hand stretched outward towards me as if to beckon for the rings. What their original purpose was I could only guess. More than likely meant to be lures which gave me some idea of what kind of daedra the students had been trying to snare: one that enjoyed the finer things. Each ring only fit perfectly on one of the clawed fingers, a sound of metal on metal as each glided on. I took a step back. My familiar sat patiently beside me. And I took a deep breath.

            From behind I heard others activating their spells. I raised my hands and began my incantation. My hands raised and facing the relic, I could see my binding rune glow a darker and more vibrant green. The relic began to shake a bit and the fingers began to move. A conjurer’s void began forming in the middle of its palm. Suddenly the ground beneath me began to shake. My ankle began to roll and I lost my balance for a fraction of a second. The dark purple void began to form its own pull and a violent wind rushed around me. Hair whipped in my face. But I kept a hold on the link, made my mouth keep saying the words.

            Underneath me, I could sense the power of J’zargo’s spell. Around me, Onmund’s spell tugged tighter and tighter still. I could hear all three of them, chanting and repeating. Suddenly, the mark on my hand began to burn and my stomach sank. Conjurer’s burns. I had to finish this quickly or I would be short an arm.

            “OUT, YOU DAMNED THING!” I thrusted both hands into the void and ripped as hard as I could. I stumbled back, tripped over a circle. And all of it suddenly stopped. The quiet was deafening and we all stared at the relic.

            “Did we… did something go wrong?” Brelyna whispered, looking around for any signs of lingering void.

            J’zargo gave a low growl. “This one senses that not all is right.”

            And with that ominous observation, four skulls appeared from the now-closed fist relic and began to circle it. To say I was terrified would have been an understatement. Did I somehow end up performing an unwitting act of necromancy? Surely, I wasn’t powerful enough to bring back students from the dead. I’d hoped. But the skulls spun into one another and then simply vanished.

            “So, just to make sure I’m not going crazy, we all did just see a bunch of skulls disappear, right?” Onmund’s voiced wavered a bit.

            Then, right in front of me, a large void _whooshed_ in and closed in on itself. Leaving behind a very large dremora who pulled out his very large sword and pointed it at me.

            “Holy shit!” I kicked my feet at the sword, stumbled back some more.

            “Where am I?” he growled. “You! Out with it!”

            _Oh, Divines. Akatosh, Mara, Kynareth, Arkay, Dibella, Julianos, Stendarr, and Zenithar, oh my holy shit-eating, mother bedding shit. I am going to die, I’m going to die._ But words were not leaving my mouth. I could do little more than stare at the sword in my face.

            “I—uh—you’re…we’re beneath Winterhold College,” I winced. “The Midden?”

            He was dressed in plainclothes, no armor and had strange, red tattoos on his face. He cocked his mouth to one side and raised an eyebrow, letting his sword arm relax back to his side.

            “Ah, I was beginning to think this day would never come,” he sounded less ready to kill me and more ready to kidnap me to Oblivion.

            My legs were steady enough that I stood back on my own two feet. The only thing I could hope to do was feign bravery. “And what day is this, exactly?”

            But then, he did the strangest thing. His nose scrunched up as if he’d caught a whiff of something unexpected and he seemed confused. “So _you_ were the one to break the binding spell, did you?”

            Binding spell? That’s not what I thought was going on at all. “Well, I suppose but—”

            “You smell funny.”

            And there I was standing face to face with something that could kill me within seconds, but I was irritated that the thing had implied that I needed a bath. “ _Beg pardon_? Did you just tell me that I stink?”

            He rolled his eyes. “Mortals. Always forgetting that you have a soul.”

            I squinted at him, still very confused.

            “Matters little,” he waved me off. “Their souls are trapped in Oblivion all the same and here I stay.”

            Glaring at him, I put my hands on his hips. “Well, then go back for all I care.”

            “Where I _belong_ is back aboard my ship, on the Abecean.”

            “Aaaaaah, a pirate?” I guessed.

            He laughed, his voice strange-sounding. “Right you are and you’ve no hope in defeating me, pup. Don’t bother. Why not broker a bargain instead?”

            Crossing my arms, I raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t exactly eager to start a fight. For once. What kind of bargain?”

            The dremora paced back and forth swinging his sword, contemplating something. “Those kids who bound me here? Dead and ain’t coming back. Killing me certainly won’t do it. I, on the other hand, did more with my time on Mundus than trap harmless dremora in the basements of mage’s colleges.”

            “You _just_ threatened me with a sword,” I pointed out flatly.

            “Give me a break. It’s been a while since I’ve been out.”

            I twirled my finger. “Get on with it.”

            “Release me and I’ll share a bit of my wealth with you.”

            Wealth? By this time I’d completely forgotten that Brelyna, Onmund, and J’zargo were even in the same room listening to this. They’d said nothing so far and I wasn’t asking for their opinion. “What kind of wealth?”

            “As a pirate, I ferreted away my fair share of wealth. Whatever me and my crew couldn’t carry, I hid away.”

            “Ooookay, so my reward for releasing you is a bunch of hidden treasure that _I’m_ gonna need to find?” My time with Pavo had taught me to be smarter than that. “Gotta give me something better than that.”

            The dremora sneered at me. But then he began patting at his belt, searching for something. Then, he suddenly pulled off a bag and tossed it to me. “Here.”

            I caught it and stared at him. “A bag?”

            “You’ll figure it out. Now, release me.”

            I sighed. No point in trying to drag this out any further. We weren’t dead, the dremora wouldn’t kill me, and we’d pulled off a large-scale spell. I stuffed the pouch into a satchel. “ _Fine_ , how do we do this?”

            “Names have power, lass. You should know by now, or at least will. Just say ‘Velehk Sain, I release you,’ and _poof!_ I’m on my way!”

            A gave him a half-smile. “Alright then. Velehk Sain, I release you.”

            He nodded at me and returned my smile. “Aye, that’s a smart lass. I’m sure we’ll see one another again, mortal. Your friends?” He nodded towards them. “Warn them to never cross my path. You’ve got a strange smell about you. It’ll keep you safe.”

            And with those parting thoughts, Velehk Sain _poofed!_ just as he promised.

            I stared at the relic, reached out to touch the fist but no magic seemed to resonate from it. Turning to face my friends, I realized there was a reason for their silence. Blood had ran dry from their faces, well, aside from the Khajiit’s. Onmund fainted with a dull thud against the cold, hard floor. Brelyna raced to kneel next to him. J’zargo had a paw raised to his mouth, speechless.

            “Whooo!” I shouted, raising a fist into the air. My triumphant shout echoed loudly through the empty spaces and cracks of the Midden. “Do you see that! Shit!” I started laughing. This was almost as good as a hefty haul through theft. “Did you _fucking_ see that? Ha ha!”

            I raced over and hugged J’zargo, bent over to squeeze a now barely conscious Onmund, and grabbed Brelyna’s arm to clutch it hard. But over the sound of my excitement, we hadn’t heard the footsteps.

            “Well, well, what _do_ we have here?”

            And standing in front of us was Phinis, Tolfdir, and Mirabelle. They didn’t look pleased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was quite a chapter, no? Dangerous magic surely has its costs but looks like Elya has gotten... a reward? That bag is a familiar item for those of you who know better! And an extra nod to something strange about her soul--she doesn't know it yet but these little hints will be peppered in throughout the story. And how much do you like her relationship with Brelyna? Elya relies so much on her and has someone who's a bit like herself--vulnerable but hostile to others because of that vulnerability. It reminds me a great deal of Rook's relationship with Frea in Rook of Skyrim. Let me know what you think of this chapter!
> 
> Thanks to the lovely readers who've left kudos. And a very special thanks to my beta--praeeunt-- who has been so fantastic and wonderful. Without her, I wouldn't have the time to edit and post nice chapters.
> 
> Bit of housecleaning--I'll be taking the next two weeks off because praeeunt and I are working on our finals for the semester. To give her a break and myself some time to catch up, there won't be a chapter of Leading the Blind posted next Saturday but I will be re-editing the LtB chapters that are up. That's it! To keep up with what's going on with me or the stories, I'm pretty good at keeping everyone updated at skyrim-fanfiction on tumblr. 
> 
> Next chapter of Relentless? We'll see the repercussions of this little adventure, the consequences of Elya's thieving ways creeping back into her life, and... well, you'll see! Thanks for reading! -Ash


	12. Arc 1: Chapter 6

Blessedly, Mirabelle’s first priority laid in getting all of our maladies in order.

            Cursedly, that meant seeing Colette.

            The worst of Onmund’s problems extended to a simple head injury he’d suffered while fainting. J’zargo got off easy with a few singed whiskers, some patches of fur missing, and some blurry vision. Brelyna and I weren’t so lucky. Idiots that we were, none of us had stopped to consider the consequences of using blood as a binding agent.   
            Sergius ended up being handy with restoration as well as enchanting. Little wonder why after seeing what happened to Brelyna. “ _Blood_? Gods, child.” He opened up one of her eyes and clicked his tongue in sympathy. “There’s a reason no sane mage touches blood magic. Not only does it look like a nasty case of casting sickness but you used more than _one_ blood line to make the solution? Gods damn. We’ve not had to do this in decades but we’re going to have to purify your blood with at least one session of bloodletting to cleanse you.”

            I’d never seen a Dark Elf paler than when every drop of blood drained out of her face. “B-blood… _letting_?”

            Both he and Colette nodded vigorously. “Oh, yes,” the restoration specialist agreed. “We’ve got some leeches _somewhere_ around here but if we don’t nip this in the bud, you might get some sort of blood sickness as well. That kind of infection puts anyone down for weeks, much less someone trying to keep up their magicka link.”

            I felt horrible about the others up until Colette, Phinis, _and_ Faralda examined me.

            “You could have lost an _arm_!” Colette shrieked. She wouldn’t take her hands off my left arm, healing and rehealing every inch. My skin crawled with the way her bony fingers were prodded and digging into me as if somehow the injury was embedded in my bone. It wasn’t so much the moderate conjurer’s burns that bothered everyone but the binding in my palm that seemed to be cause for discussion.

            Faralda just laughed, her golden skin reddening at her mirth. “I’m going to _love_ having you as formal apprentice.”

            Phinis shot her a look but also didn’t look _entirely_ displeased. “Marking _yourself_? You’re damn lucky that your incompetence didn’t brand you permanently.”

            “Oh, come off of it, Phinis. She wasn’t summoning a hoard of undead. She just undid a bind.” She snapped her fingers, “Nothing to undoing one of those. Apprentice Ashwing didn’t even _summon_ anything.” The Altmer mage turned her attention back to me. “But if you’re willing to risk life and limb to cast a spell, you’re going to fit in nicely with my method of training.”

            The master conjurer grabbed my hand and turned it over to examine the bind that he’d broken minutes ago by placing a line in the middle of the entire thing. “I didn’t say that I wouldn’t take her on as well. This is _still_ quite impressive.”

            Colette waved at both of them and screeched, “Both of you aren’t going to have a student to work with unless you let me finish healing her! Get _out_!”

            Good old Colette. I suppose if anything, the entire affair had allowed her and her skills to come into the spotlight. If nothing else, it seemed like she was actually helping for once as opposed to standing around going on about how important and valuable restoration was. Probably best not to make this sort of thing a habit though. All of the instructors left the four of us alone in Mirabelle’s office which allowed Colette to finish up her work. Mirabelle sat over her desk in silence, diligently writing in one of her many books—most of which sat in neat stacks around her. When we were sufficiently patched up enough for her satisfaction, she dismissed Colette who frowned and slammed the door upon her exit.

            And we were left with Mirabelle in front of us. Staring. Mouth set flat. Her hands rested together in front of her on the desk. After what seemed like an era, she finally spoke. “Do I _even_ want to know how you four ended up in this situation?”

            All four of us stayed perfectly still. The first one of us to crack would surely get the worst of her wrath. Best to remain motionless and silent. We probably looked ridiculous from her point of view. Onmund had a thick bandage around his head, the inside of which was inscribed a very mild ice rune to keep the swelling in his skull down. One half of J’zargo’s whiskers were obliterated, parts of him were bald, and he couldn’t stop squinting. Brelyna looked like she was about to pass out and her robes were tattered in places. Gods only knew how Mirabelle saw me with my left arm bandaged thrice over, my hair a wild and dark cloud, and dirt all over me.

            She didn’t say anymore but continued to stare. First, she met each of our eyes. Then she sighed. The silence was something I could deal with but the little sounds started scraping against my nerves. I became acutely aware of J’zargo wheezing through one of his nostrils. Brelyna had begun cracking her knuckles. Worst yet, underneath my bandages, the heat and sweat had caused the tiniest of itches to sprout. It was driving me mad. For a moment I thought _I_ was going to be the link that broke in our defenses but Onmund began to explain.

            “We were just exploring the Midden,” he mumbled, suddenly finding his hands to be extremely interesting. “And we found the relic. We just thought that it was something simple and would be good practice for our research review examinations.”

            It slowly dawned on me that Onmund had nicely kept us all together. No one was more responsible for the mess than anyone else. If anyone had wanted to, it would have been easy to throw me into a troll’s path and blame me for the entire thing. I’d stolen the rings. It was me who even _suggested_ we perform the ritual in the first place. And to be entirely honest, I had the most to gain. Phinis had alerted Mirabelle and Tolfdir because he’d sensed something amiss. I was the only student whose primary focus was conjuration. But to hear Onmund tell it, all four of us were equally involved.

            “I see.” Mirabelle didn’t change her expression but allowed a finger to tap against the wood of her desk. “All four of you realize that I was master wizard at the time of the original binding ritual, correct?”

            I swallowed. Onmund had done a good job at keeping us together but that also meant explaining how we just happened to come across the rings. Which meant that she knew that they’d been locked up in the Arcanaeum. Which meant she knew they’d been stolen. The question now was whether or not Urag would have us polishing floors until the next era. We’d never sleep again. He’d probably force us to be permanent library pages cursed forever to re-shelve and reorganize books.

            Oh, _gods_.

            But what if one of the other two decided I _was_ expendable? Then they’d be free.

            To my great shock, Mirabelle rolled her eyes and allowed her head to rest in her hand. “None of you are dead and that damned dremora was draining magicka resources anyway. If I decide to pursue any further action, I’ll have that damned Thalmor further up my arse. I have enough problems with him slinking around like an assassin ready to slit my throat. This really isn’t worth my time.”     

            I briefly slid a side glance over at my friends who were copying my actions. Surely, we wouldn’t get away free as daylight? Mirabelle proceeded to pull out a couple of books and handed them to us. “All four of you will be required to pass a casting safety test before I’ll allow any of you to even _think_ about taking your examinations.” She didn’t chastise us for the audible groans that were in reply to that punishment. “Now, all of you: _out_. Except for you, Apprentice Ashwing. You and I are going to have a chat.”

            My stomach dropped.

            As Onmund, J’zargo, and Brelyna slipped quietly out the door, they all gave me sympathetic glances.

            I tried smoothing out my hair the best I could. I refused to look ridiculous during this.

            Mirabelle pursed her lips in a thoughtful manner. I couldn’t figure out what she was thinking, why I was still here. Did she already know that I was responsible for most of this? My heart raced. What if she kicked me _out_? Mentally, I kicked myself. This is what I got for going back to my old ways.

            She squinted her eyes. “You spoke to the dremora.”

            It wasn’t a question.

            “ _Yes_ ,” I threw up my hands. All of that worry over something so silly. “Gods, is that all?”

            “Watch your tone,” her eyes narrowed and a chill ran down my spine. “I’m concerned that you aren’t taking this encounter seriously. Mages aren’t often in positions of dealing with Oblivion directly. Daedra are dangerous and you released one.”

            Slumped in my chair, I did my best to cross my arms and huff. “So?”

            Mirabelle’s look softened a bit. She sighed. “You were _lucky._ I’m not going to bother asking your friends exactly what transpired but know this: daedra rarely spare out of mercy or pity. If he didn’t kill you, there was a reason.”

            I fidgeted in my chair. There was a large lump in my throat that refused to go down.

            She frowned. “I suspect that the reason is closely related to why none of you are dead.”

            What could I say? Despite everything, I was getting off relatively easy. Mirabelle didn’t look upset, just worried. My arm reminded me that it was injured and I winced.

            “Is that it? That all you wanted to talk to me about?”

            The master-wizard gave me a long-suffering look and then returned to whatever she had been writing. “Get back to your studies, Apprentice Ashwing.”

* * *

 

            Brelyna wrinkled her nose as she took a spoonful of the goop in front of her and then turned it upside down. The “soup” plopped back into bowl, thick and viscous as honey.

            “Colette is not only an outstanding instructor but a top notch chef as well,” she complained.

            I sneered at my own portion of the meal. “Why do _all_ of us have to eat this?”

            All four of us peered down into the concoction before us. It didn’t have a smell. It barely had a color. J’zargo growled at me.

            “Yes, this one wonders why all of us are forced to be on Colette’s special ‘diet’ until we’ve all fully recovered.”

            Brelyna took another spoonful, glanced down at the slop, and then shoved the gruel in. Her mouth made shapes that I was fairly certain no mouth was meant to make. Onmund’s eyes widened. He’d spent most of the time silent as he said talking too much made his head hurt worse. I quickly shoveled a large glop of the soup into my own mouth and swallowed it without tasting it. The only word that seemed appropriate for everything about it was _slimy_.

            “Well, _I_ wasn’t the one who was greedy about some stupid rings that we don’t even have anymore,” I spit out in between slurping dinner.

            Onmund and J’zargo didn’t have any reply to that but Brelyna asked, “Well, you ended up with a nice, dirty bag.”

            I lost a little of my indignant anger. “Don’t remind me.” I’d yet to figure out what in Oblivion was so damn special about it. The rest of the meal was eaten in relative silence aside from minor complaints due to our injuries. My left arm shouted at me each time I tried to use it—the only time I’d ever cursed being left-handed. Eventually, all of us retired to our rooms. Brelyna walked me to mine.

            “How’s the arm?” she gingerly outstretched my arm to examine it. I shrugged but allowed her to unwind the bandaging and cast a minor healing spell over it. “It’s looking really good actually. Minor burn at worst. I wonder why Colette was so concerned.”

            Looking down at myself, I was shocked to see that the redness had paled to a light blush and that the blisters and blood were practically gone. “It was a _lot_ worse but I suppose the college doesn’t employ Colette because she’s a complete idiot.” Brelyna produced a fresh roll of bandaging. “Brelyna, you should go and rest. You can’t feel well.”

            She shrugged. “Aside from feeling a little worn, I feel fine. I think that nonsense about blood-based magic is foolishness from the Second Era.” Her hands steadied my arm as she began the process. When she finished, she snapped her fingers at me. “Give me a brush or comb. Your hair is a mess.”

            The lone candle in my room shone brightly, flickering only slightly. My body relaxed as her fingers ran through my hair, undoing the large skeever’s nest that had taken up residence. I closed my eyes and imagined that the last day hadn’t occurred, that we were all fine.

            “Elya,” she whispered softly. “Are you alright?”

            I opened an eye and looked back at her. “My arm is _fine_. You saw it and—”

            “That’s not what I meant.” I felt her fingers deftly tug at some strands and twist them into a loose braid. “You had a daedra point a sword at you and threaten you. You’re telling me that doesn’t affect you at all?”

            Raising my eyebrows, I frowned. First Mirabelle and now Brelyna. _Should_ I have felt afraid? Did I feel _anything_ bad about the encounter? “Well…” I chewed on the inside of my cheek. “I guess at first it was a bit frightening but there wasn’t really time to be afraid. What would being afraid help?”

            And then she unexpectedly started laughing. “You are so _strange_. That encounter was terrifying! And you’re probably going to sleep soundly tonight. I’m getting at least _one_ good nightmare remembering that he was ready to run you through.” Her hands dropped. Her head lowered. And then she started crying.

            “Brelyna?” I reached out to touch her arm.

            “You could have died!” she sobbed harder. She then reached out to embrace me. “Elya, that dremora could have killed you and we would have had to watch as you bled out!”

            I returned her hug but couldn’t figure out what to say. It had been so long since anyone had cared about my well-being that it felt unnatural. Pavo and I had been partners but I don’t think he ever lost any sleep over any danger I’d put myself in. It just seemed like fear was a luxury.

            “I-I’m sorry? I’m…um… I’m just not used to having friends who care so much,” I pulled away from her. “But I was okay. Promise. Honestly, I’d be more worried about Onmund’s head. He’s not his usual chatty self.”

            She wiped away some lingering tears. “Thank, Azura.” She brushed some hair out of her face and gave me a soft smile. “I think all four of us should agree to never again go into the Midden and try to talk to a mysterious, unknown force.”

            “Agreed. Are _you_ going to be alright?”

            Brelyna nodded. “Here,” she handed me the brush. “Now, you return the favor. My hair’s a mess.”

            I happily switched places with her. “Your hair isn’t anything like mine was. Besides, your hair is nice and straight.” She chuckled but shrugged my comment off. We finished our ritual in peace. I bid her good evening and lay in my bed on top of my covers. Unable to sleep. Onmund’s snoring was a bit louder than usual. Throughout the hall, I could hear J’zargo mumbling in his sleep. My arm ached ever so slightly. After tossing and turning, I finally gave up and went into the dining room to eat some real food. I was able to stomach a few bites of cheese before giving up on that.

            Part of me believed that my injuries were keeping me up or that maybe what happened in the Midden shook me more than I thought possible. But these were all pretty lies. I knew _exactly_ what was nagging at me. Stealing those rings had brought to the surface old habits and old feelings. Every job I ever pulled off with Pavo always brought on that feeling of excitement. It didn’t matter if we were stealing apples; getting away with something was thrilling. And I’d been doing _so_ good since arriving here. I couldn’t even make it a whole year without having these thoughts. I wrestled with the idea for a bit before deciding to take a look around upstairs.

            _Just to look_. That’s what I told myself.

            The second floor of the Hall of Attainment was where Mirabelle slept—when she _was_ here—and where a few miscellaneous researchers lived. Nirya hated me because she hated Faralda. Enthir was a Bosmer sorcerer who spent his time going back and forth into town. I’d never spoken to him at length but it was rumored that he was involved in something illicit. Arniel was often locked in a lab somewhere so he hardly slept in his room. And, of course, Ancano. He’d originally been given a room on the floor with us but he threw a fit and demanded that he was better than living with a bunch of students. A whole weekend was spent switching the dining room upstairs with his room downstairs. Mirabelle was livid.

            Creeping on the tips of my toes, I crept up the stairs and looked around to see if anyone was up. From my view, it seemed like the entire floor was empty. It wasn’t unusual but I still kept my guard up. My feet took soft, careful steps around the rooms, being careful not to get too close. Last thing I needed was to be caught by someone I couldn’t see. It would be much easier to explain walking around than digging through someone’s things. Most were boring. Books, ingredients, dirty robes.

            Until I got to Enthir’s room.

            The shelves were filled items that I was certain were not in high demand around the college. Stacks of finely polished lutes and baskets filled with silver candlesticks didn’t seem like something I’d ever need for an alchemy class. I snuck one last look around before deciding to sneak into his room. On his desk was a stack of books that looked like journals. I picked up one and began to read it while I walked around his room. Occasionally, I’d look back to check to make sure I was alone but I went through the ledger filled with items and travel costs. My hand was running over the wood of one lute when suddenly a hand came from behind me and grabbed my wrist.

            “Well, well, well,” Enthir’s familiar voice rang beside my ear, soft and low. Obviously, he didn’t want to bring attention to whatever was happening. “If it isn’t Apprentice Ashwing. Going through my things at night.”

            But I kept reading. “For a fence, you’re really bad at your job. Are you really spending seventy-five Septims for cost and travel of each lute? A nice one _at best_ might fetch thirty. No one would spend an extra forty-five for an overhead cost. Are you even making a profit?”

            He let go of my wrist and smiled widely at me. Surprisingly, he laughed loudly. I furrowed my brow in question and closed the book. This was not the reaction I had expected. “Hah! Oblivion take me.” Enthir didn’t get much out besides more laughter.

            I stared at him. “So, um, does that mean you _aren’t_ going to punish me? I’m going to be honest, after what happened last night I’m probably on pretty thin ice so _preferably_ I’d like this to stay between you and me.”

            He gave me a pat on the back and I stumbled forward a bit. “Punish? Far from it, girl. You just reminded me of an old friend. No, no, you’ve got a good eye for things that others might not find so savory.”

            “I’ve got a little experience in _unsavory_ things.”

            Enthir squinted at me for a moment, a finger tapping against his chin. His pointed ears perked visibly upon discovering something. “You know, it’s hard finding good help around Winterhold. The… _organization_ I work with isn’t doing so well in Skyrim. Old fence network isn’t what it used to be.”

            “Organization?”

            “Let’s keep it at that.”

            “Uh-huh…” my fingers tapped the ledger I was holding, working through what he was telling me. Pavo often talked about a Thieves Guild in Skyrim but I’d never seen any evidence of them. In Cyrodiil it had been _much_ different; we always had to be careful in towns that had a high Thieves Guild presence. If we pulled too many jobs, Pavo was quick to suggest we move on. We weren’t even competition but the guild crushed anyone who dared move in on their territory.

            The Bosmer studied me carefully, glancing at my bandaged arm. He motioned toward it. “Master Marence give you an estimate as to when that’ll be healed?”

            I shrugged. “No, but it’s not that bad.”

            “Hmm,” Enthir took the book from me and paced back and forth, obviously in deep thought about something. “You interested in a job?”

            “Job?” my eyes widened and I frowned. The way this conversation was going, I had a bad feeling I knew what kind of work he was talking about. All I had to do was say no and that this was a mistake. I was certain that Enthir wouldn’t bother me again. But on the horizon was the promise of a little bit of coin I wouldn’t have to earn through sore hands and a drunk Nord. Maybe helping Enthir would give me opportunities the other students wouldn’t be afforded.

            Before I could go over all of my options and feelings, I heard my mouth say. “Sure.”

            He smiled widely and crossed his arms. “Alright then. You’ll never have to answer to any of the people I work with so you and I can make our own agreement. You run a couple of jobs for me, help me with that overhead cost you were so kind to remind me of, and I’ll give you a twenty percent cut.”

            “Thirty,” I countered.

            “Twenty-five.”

            “Twenty-seven.”

            “Twenty- _six_ and that’s straight off the top.” He extended a hand toward me. “So, Apprentice Ashwing. What do you say?”

            There was no hesitation. My hand clasped his and, just like that, I was back into a world that I thought I’d left earlier this year.

            Enthir pointed downward. “Now, if I were you, I’d go back to bed. You’ve got exams to study for and I’ve got orders to rearrange. Now that I’ve got myself a trustworthy worker, lots of changes need to be made. You’ll be hearing from me soon.” Before I left, he handed me a book that he had in a wardrobe. “And you’ll want to add this to your studies. But I wouldn’t shout it from the Throat of the World.”

            The dark book had no title on the cover or the spine. I opened it up to the title page.

            _Shadowmarks_ by Delvin Mallory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, thanks for being so patient about updates being slower than I'd like. I'm in the middle of getting ready for some really big written exams this summer so updates for both Relentless and Leading the Blind will be slower than usual. 
> 
> Thank you to all of you who've left kudos and comments since the last update--I'm very sorry that I'm losing track. With comments, it's much easier to tell who said what when but I can't see when kudos were left :( So, I might be really bad at giving out specific thanks for a few months because I'm sort of running around like mad.
> 
> But, whew! The consequences of the last chapter aren't as bad as they could have been but maybe they're a bit more far reaching than our favorite apprentices realize. Surely, using Elya's blood wouldn't cause any sort of problem--NAH. Everything should be just fine. Also, I love the imagery of Elya's hair out of control and wild while bandaged up while Mirabelle is trying to tell her, "Hey, girl. Maybe you should be concerned about direct contact with Oblivion." I imagine that a sillier version of this scene would have Elya putting her feet on Mirabelle's desk, smoking skooma, and making some rude gesture. Oh, and saying, "I DO WHAT I WANT."
> 
> And who is excited about the Thieves Guild??? Because I am. Oh, man. Sooooo excited! There is a little bit of a connection here to Rook of Skyrim but it's a bit buried in the story. At one point, Rook mentions that all of her problems started when Enthir compared her to Gallus. Wonder what that means?
> 
> HMMM. 
> 
> Next chapter? Some quality time with someone we haven't seen Elya have a one-on-one with--Onmund. Also, the examinations! Hope enchanting won't cause Elya any problems. Oh! And more thieving intrigue! Thanks for reading! -Ash


	13. Arc 1: Chapter 7

“Onmund?” my whisper barely made a dent in the silence of the Arcanaeum so I gently shook his shoulder instead. The Nord swatted at me before groggily lifting his head and yawning. “It’s early in the morning. We should try and catch some sleep in proper beds.”

            He glanced at the stacks of books around him before yawning again. “Yes. Bed. That sounds nice.”

            I threaded my arm underneath one of his and wrapped it around his shoulders, hoisting him up. “Alright, c’mon. Urag catches us in here one more time and he’s going to make us pay rent.” Onmund’s only reply was a deep nod. He stumbled a bit as he tried to match my pace, our feet bumping against one another any time stairs were involved. By the time we made it back to our rooms, Onmund shook his head and pointed to the dining area.

            “If I go to bed now, I won’t wake up for another week,” he ran a hand through his thick, dark hair. It stuck out in places, some ends refusing to stay in place. His broad nose scrunched and then he sneezed. “Tea. Something hot. It’s cold in here.”

            I sat him down, rolling my eyes but smiling. “Alright, tea it is.” Instead of making a fresh batch, I took a pitcher gone cold from earlier this morning and smelled it. It was lavender and dragon’s tongue but Onmund probably wasn’t too picky at this very moment. My finger drew a weak fire rune into my palm and I put it over the opening. Steam poured from the edges I couldn’t cover and I quickly shook off the rune, my hand stinging slightly. My left arm had fully recovered at a rate that baffled Colette. Despite her protests, Faralda had been excited about teaching me so she started teaching me advanced spells after the Midden incident. Phinis wasn’t quite as willing to take me on just yet. I had to wait to pass my exams.

            “Here you go,” I pushed a freshly poured cup of tea to him. Resting my head on my hand, I yawned as well.

            Onmund sipped the old tea thoughtfully, sighing every now and then. Ever since the Midden, he’d not been his usual self. He’d thrown himself into his studies with such force that even Brelyna was put to shame. J’zargo had asked for help with practicing some wards and he’d waved him off. He said his head was fine, just that he’d found his focus again.

            I poured myself some of the tea as well and found that it wasn’t completely bad. We hadn’t really talked to one another after what happened in Mirabelle’s office. Part of me wondered if he was mad at me but another part of me was finding the silence heavy between us. I decided to settle for small talk. “So, heard from your family lately?” I gazed down into my tea, hands cupped tightly around the warm cup, as if it remnants at the bottom would divine something for me to say.

            “No,” he responded curtly. “And I’m not expecting to.”

            I bit the inside of my cheek. The tea still wasn’t giving me any answers. It was strange seeing Onmund so serious. Certainly, he was probably exhausted as well but his intense stare coupled with a tone that had a bite to it had me on edge. “Hmm. That must be nicer than Brelyna’s family. She came here to get away from them.”

            He didn’t respond.

            This was getting ridiculous. If Onmund was angry with me, he needed to hurry up and tell me. “Is there a reason you’ve been acting like this?”

            He glanced up at me and took another sip of tea. Eventually, the entire thing was shoved aside and he buried his head in his hands. Although his voice was muffled, I could make out, “I’ve been so _stupid_.”

            “Stupid?” I was a bit taken aback.

            “Stupid,” Onmund repeated. “All my life, I’ve wanted to be a sorcerer. I considered my interests a blessing. But my family was convinced coming here was a death sentence,” he paused a bit before adding, “Or worse.”

            Suddenly, I understood his meaning. “Oh.”

            He threw up his hands and began to talk animatedly with them as if he was performing a spell. “It took _years_ of insisting that _this_ is what I'm meant to do. And I nearly threw it all away,” Onmund gave me a forlorn look. “For what? Some foolish rings that I thought could make me more powerful. Worse, I convinced you to _steal_. How awful.”

            I gave him a weak smile, forcing a laugh to stay in my mouth. “It’s alright, promise. But you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. We’re all okay. No reason to go killing yourself by sleep deprivation.”

            He shook his head. “You don’t get it. Bretons are used to being spellcasters. Magic is shunned by most Nords. If it can't be swung over your head and used to crack skulls, most Nords want nothing to do with it. Magic is seen as something for elves, and weaker races.”

            I picked at a splinter in the table, ripping it away from the wood. “Well, I do enjoy being part of a weaker race.”

            “That’s _not_ what I meant,” he huffed. “Look at the evidence: Nords generally don't trust magic, so it's not off to a good start. Throw in the Oblivion Crisis, which was caused by magic-users, _and_ the troubles now with the Aldmeri Dominion, who are elves and magic users. And _finally_ take the fact that the College is the only thing left standing after most of Winterhold was destroyed. It's all fairly damning.”

            Groaning, I poured myself more tea. I heard enough of this ridiculous conspiracy talk when I had to go into town. Elves this, magic that. Exhausting. “The only elves benefiting from the Dominion are the Altmer. And the Oblivion Crisis? Daedra are the ones who laid siege to Skyrim. _Not_ a bunch of Bretony battlemages. It’s just evidence that the Nords would rather complain and blame other races for why this place is going to Oblivion.”

            He chuckled and smiled widely at me. “I’d love for you to tell that to my family. I’m sure they’d be reasonable about the ‘facts.’” He used his fingers to indicate that he didn’t think his family would consider them to be such.

            Someone coughed and I jumped, scared at the sudden interruption in our conversation. I realized that we’d come back to the hall for a reason. “We need to get some sleep though.” I gave him a soft punch to the arm, raising from my seat. “Can’t be a huge disappointment to your family if you don’t pass your exams.”

            Onmund followed me, nudging me back. “I’m sure your family is thrilled with your own successes. Especially in enchanting.”

            I threw back mocking laughter at him before retiring to my own bed. Sleep eluded me. The only thing that I found easily were thoughts of my brother. With no candlelight, the only thing to keep me company was the soft, blue glow of the pool of magic light that led up to the second floor. Instead of sleeping, I found the knapsack that I came with and pulled out one of the old books I’d taken from home so many years ago. From my pouch I pulled out my timepiece and considered both objects.

            There was no way of knowing if he was dead or alive. If Tyval _was_ alive, I’d have no idea where we was. How to go about finding him. Even more importantly, did I _want_ to find him? He left me. Surely, he had to have known that it was a death sentence. But part of me wondered what it would be like to find one another again. I was a bit jealous when Onmund and Brelyna talked of their families, no matter how they felt about them. J’zargo claimed that his parents were thrilled that he was at the College. Would my parents be proud of me? Would Tyval? I’d learned that magic blood ran through families, that siblings could be powerful conduits for one another. Perhaps Tyval and I would be students together if our parents were alive.

            Before I put my things away and settled into my covers, I wiped away the few tears that had spilt while I had reminisced. I needed to clear my head. Those kinds of thoughts were useless to me in the wilds and they were useless to me now. I had to prepare.

* * *

 

            “Now, I would like all of you to take this time and reflect on what you’ve gained from your time here at the College,” Tolfdir smiled, his eyes sparkling with joy and satisfaction. “All of you have been here a year and all of you have been excellent students.”

            Frowning, I groaned to myself. Perhaps he thought this little speech of his was meant to be encouraging but it was grating on my nerves. My stomach was twisting itself into knots while all four of us waited in the cold Hall of Elements, waiting for the worst to come. If I couldn’t at least pass the enchanting portion, I was guaranteed to be kicked out. Or at the very least, be relegated to scrubbing floors for the rest of my life. No mage worth their measure would fail basic spellcasting in any of the schools of magic.

            “…and if you follow these simple rules, you’ll do fine,” Tolfdir concluded and motioned for us to visit each instructor set up in stations around the hall.

            “What?” I whispered to Brelyna. “I wasn’t paying attention. What rules?”

            She raised her eyebrows. “Elya, you should have been paying attention. Now, go. We’re all nervous but we’re going through this together. You can do this.”

            I grimaced but dutifully made my way to Colette for restoration. Before the exams had begun, I’d made up my mind to get her out of the way because as much as I hated how inept I was at enchanting, I hated her shrill voice more.

            “Aaaah, Apprentice Ashwing.” She tapped a bony finger against her cheek. “Here. You have twenty seconds to completely heal this summon.” Her fingers snapped together and from a plume of smoke, a flame atronach appeared. As soon as it appeared, Colette thrust an ice spike into it. A violent spray of ice shone like a star across its chest. I didn’t hesitate to push my own hand into it. The fire was cold and tugged at my own body heat. But I counted, pushing my own life force into wound. Ten seconds was all it took before I was finished.

            I smirked at her. “There, nothing to it.”         

            She returned my cocky expression. “Good job.” Then her mouth flattened and she snapped her fingers again. “Again.”

            My mouth fell but I did so. Again and again. I felt a little nauseous by the time she proclaimed that I could move on. The feeling that she’d done that on purpose angered me a little but I had other spells to cast.

            Drevis was kinder: we had our choice of either an invisibility spell or a muffle spell. Of course I chose to muffle myself and was able to sneak up on all of the familiars he summoned. We all knew Tolfdir would be a push over if alteration wasn’t one of our concentrations so I didn’t worry about studying for his portion. He simply asked me to conjure a candle and then cast magelight. Only J’zargo would be asked to create improvements on robes but all of us were slightly shocked to see him cast a spell to detect life just outside of the hall.

            And then I came to Faralda. She gave me a wide, warm smile.

            “Do I want to know?” I crossed my arms. “Please don’t ask me to fight an atronach.”

            “No, no, nothing so boring,” she waved off my complaints and wrapped an arm around my shoulder. “Something _much_ more fun.” Clapping, she caught the attention of the entire room. “J’zargo! Come here, my other favorite student!” I stared at Faralda. She couldn’t be serious. J’zargo stopped his spell at the enchanting table and strode confidently towards me and our master.

            Everyone else had stopped what they were doing and were staring at the three of us in the center of the hall, Faralda’s height noticeably above the two of us by at least half a head. It was impossible for her to not look down upon us, literally. A suspicious gleam in her eyes made my stomach slightly sour. J’zargo grinned from ear to fuzzy ear, seemingly pleased at having been taken away from his exam to participate in his primary focus examination. The Altmer smiled widely at the both of us.

            “Now, I presume both of you know what the purpose of the School of Destruction is.”

            I casted my glance sideways toward J’zargo, confused. J’zargo’s happy expression waned as well. Both of us mumbled a textbook definition in complete puzzlement, “It’s concerned with dealing damage and making something more vulnerable to damage?”

            What was she playing at here?

            “Correct!” she snapped her fingers and a giant ward in the shape of a dome pushed outward from her. Whatever got caught on the edges was pushed back. Someone shouted in surprised. But the three of us remained. “Now, I’m going to give you ten seconds to collect your thoughts and magic together because after, I’m coming at you with all I have. The test ends when I’ve yielded. No magic but destruction spells!”

            The Khajiit’s horrified face probably was a perfect mirror of my own. This had to be some sort of joke. For weeks, we’d been told to prepare for duel-casting, sustaining a spell for longer than thirty seconds, and wide-area spells. Not this. But before either of us could get out a word, a bolt of lightning struck between us and we both jumped back. I fell on my arse but rolled over to dodge another lightning bolt that Faralda had pointed at me. I could feel the heat of singed stone on my face.

            Without noticing where J’zargo was or what he was going, I leapt to my feet. Faralda, adept at duel-casting, easily threw fireballs at both of us even though we were both at opposite sides of the brightly-lit blue dome.

            “Elya!” he shouted. Then he put two fingers to his lips as if mimicking someone smoking, much like… Ah!

            Without much effort, I threw a fireball at her feet while her attention was on J’zargo. He always made fun of me for playing around with fireballs while we smoked; now it was the perfect diversion because who else knew our inside joke? It would work once but not again. But it was enough of an edge such that while she was flinging her robes to put out the small fire, J’zargo threw a weak ice rune by her feet.

            Faralda laughed and snapped her fingers and the rune’s lines swallowed themselves, leaving a wisp of ice as a reminder of his work. “Oh, come now, J’zargo! Something stronger!” As if to demonstrate her point, she threw one by my feet just as I was stepping forward and I got caught. My legs stopped moving before the rest of me did, locking up and causing me to stumble forward. I threw out my arms to break my fall, my wrist catching the brunt of the force and brilliant pain shot up my arm, radiating from a welt blossoming on my wrist. Gritting my teeth, I used my forearms to scramble forward, desperately willing my legs to _move_. With Faralda’s attention now fully on him, she reared back and with both hands threw lightning at him. I wondered _why_ J’zargo had thrown something so weak. Surely, he must have known it wasn’t going to work. He was smarter than that.

            I watched as she lazily stood back and waved her finger at him, a spray of lightning following his tail that was swooshing wildly from underneath his robes. He wasn’t fighting back. Just running. Now back on my feet, a sudden realization came to me: he didn’t want to hurt her. My wrist still hurt but I flung an ice spike at her feet and Faralda’s gaze shifted lazily in my direction. I stood wide and clenched my fists, the pain only fueling my anger. If J’zargo wasn’t going to take this seriously, I wasn’t going to hold back.

            “Oh, Elya. You poor, girl. Don’t do anything stupid now.” She snapped her fingers again and a stream of fire came at me. My body reacted before I could think. My legs ran as fast as possible toward her. I threw down the strongest fire rune I could behind her and she laughed. “I’m right here and you missed!”

            I smirked at her, my wrist throbbing. “Did I?” And I threw out my leg to kick her back. Her mouth fell and her eyes widened as her whole body went backward into the rune. The moment she touched the rune, embers began to ignite her robes. The look of shock on her face turned to panic as she lifted her hands to stop the spell from activating fully. Lucky for her, the rune collapsed in on itself just in time but the force with which I’d kicked her back did cause her to hit the floor. Hard. She winced while rubbing her hip, smoke hissing from the interrupted spell. Faralda snapped her fingers together and the large ward vanished.

            Breathing in deeply, I wiped sweat dripping from my forehead. Glancing at J’zargo, I could tell he was worn out as well, panting and pulling down the hood of his robe. His ears perked up upon hearing gasping around us. No one said a word. There were lots of eyes on me but nothing else. Suddenly Faralda’s laughter broke the silence and she stuck her hand out toward me, an unspoken command to help her up.

            “Well done, Apprentice Ashwing! J’zargo, your spells were fine. You pass,” she called out over her shoulder. “But you, well! Now _that’s_ the sort of thing a mage should be able do.” She wrapped one of her long, slender arms around my shoulders and squeezed. “You used magic to lower my defenses and then did whatever it took to get me down. Now, I’m sure your conjuration exam will go well but don’t muck up the enchanting portion. I’d rather you be a student than waiting on tables in town.”

            Rolling my eyes, I grimaced. “ _Thanks_. Can I see Colette before finishing up? My wrist hurts.”

            She waved me off and snatched my now-bruising arm. I hissed at the sudden pain but her hand began healing the wound. “It’s just a broken wrist. Do you _really_ want to see Colette again that badly?” She let it loose.

            I shook it out, the pain all but a dull memory. “No.”

            “Well then, off! Finish!” she gave me a gentle shove toward Phinis who crossed his arms, shook his head, and sighed.

            “Apprentice Ashwing.”

            I gave him a half-smile. “Master Gestor.”     

            He motioned to an empty space beside him and admitted, “Faralda and I knew you’d have no problems with our tests so we’re making it easy on you.”

            “ _That_ was easy?” I pointed back to the center of the hall.

            “Ideally, both of you would have been tested separately. But, we know how your enchanting is.” He didn’t say it but I could hear it underneath his words: an absolute mess. “So all I’m going to do is ask you conjure a weapon. Whatever you choose.”

            My stomach dropped. This was something I had not been practicing. Studying? Yes. In theory I knew how the process worked but I thought for certain that he’d have me summon, at worst, a frost atronach. Not a weapon. Bound weapons were easy if the conjurer was either extremely familiar with the physical weapon itself or an expert conjurer in general. The most basic of spells were for bound daggers and swords. While I’d used daggers, I’d never made one so conjuring one out of Oblivion would be dicey. I might end up with a very pointy stick. Without a hilt, I’d definitely fail. Staring at my hands, my mind raced but was coming up blank. If I’d just practiced this wouldn’t have been a problem but now I wasn’t going to be able to produce _anything_. And here I thought enchanting would be my biggest problem.

            Then I realized there _was_ one weapon I was extremely familiar with: a bow and arrow. While not properly or expertly made, _bormah_ had taught me enough that I could produce a makeshift one to hunt with if _absolutely_ necessary. My only concern was that a bound bow was _far_ above my skill level. This sort of spell wouldn’t just strain my magicka link—it’d snap it completely, leaving me with no link to access for the rest of my exams. But I had to do _something_ so I began the first step for conjuring anything: a void link. With slightly shaking hands, I imagined the times _bormah_ whittled down staves and notched ends and tied sinew. Remembering the exact moments my knuckles would turn white as I wound a makeshift bow string in on itself was helping me pull something into shape. The shape and form existed in my mind but pulling it onto this plane was going to be more than a little tricky. I breathed in. Breathed out.

            And as if some forgotten memory had also been dredged up, a word came to me.

            _Su’um_.

            My eyes snapped open.

            Something felt heavy in my hands. Glancing down, I found a bow and quiver made real by a force of void waiting for me to use it. I had no memory of pulling the void into a shape. There was only my breath. In. And then out.

            Phinis pulled his mouth down in an impressed-looking frown. “Certainly more than I expected. Bound bow, eh?” He took it from me, examining it. “My. This is _very_ well made. I’m impressed. Go on. You’ve passed.” He threw my hard-earned weapons into the air and the void magic keeping it together became undone. And they were gone. My heart dropped a little. Despite the sudden loss of such an accomplishment, I dutifully trudged to Sergius.

            “Master Turrianus,” I grumbled.

            “Apprentice Ashwing,” his voice answered in transparent disappointment. “Well, let’s get this over with. If anything, know that we’re all impressed with your work in the other tests.”

            I arched an eyebrow at him, skeptical. “Does that get me out of the enchanting portion?”

            “No,” he responded flatly. But he gave me a soft smile. “But I know you’ve been trying so I’m going to give you a little bit of an advantage. Take out your watch.”

            My face screwed itself into a look of puzzlement as my hand reached into my pouch and dutifully pulled out the timepiece. “Alright?”

            His own softly wrinkled hand reached out and took it from me. His eyes studied the symbols, examined the strange and geometrical etchings on the opposite side of the face. Then Sergius turned it over, whispered some words into it. When the cold and heavy piece returned to me, even _I_ could feel something off about it. The only thing he gave me was, “Make it so that it’s always right.”

            My confusion overtook what panic and anxiousness I had anticipated for this exam. No table, no gems, no enchanted items.

            _What in Oblivion kind of enchanting_ was _this_?

            The only thing I could think of to do was act like I was studying the watch closely. My fingers rubbed over it, attempting to figure out exactly what had changed about it. Something, to be certain, but what? I closed my eyes and let it operate in my hand. Whatever intricacies were inside, I allowed my hand to feel the workings simply work. My mind raced. No force tugged at me more strongly than others. And that’s when I realized everyone else was finished with their exams. I was the last and everyone was waiting on me. Trying to attempt to not fail the one subject at which I was horrible in. Even though Faralda’s test had been a bit harrowing and Phinis’ had caught me off guard, my ability to use what I was good at had helped. But I wasn’t good at anything when it came to enchanting.

            A single drop of sweat rolled from my temple and slowly grazed down my chin.

            This was it.

            I was going to fail.

            But there was something on the tip of my tongue. Like there was a word for what was happening and I _knew_ my mind had it but I couldn’t form it with my mouth. It felt like the way the machinations pulsed in my hand, each tick of the hand dropped into place just so.

            And then something _very_ strange happened.

            The ticks slowed. Not by much but I could feel that they weren’t moving in coordination with the air around me, the grinding of the gears inside itself. Everything felt off by mere _fractions._ But I felt fine. The world around me was acting strangely. It wasn’t me. But also it was?

            And then, as if I’d remembered my own name, the word that had sat on the tip of my tongue leapt to the surface.

            _Tiid_.

            I blinked my eyes open. I glanced down at the watch. I looked up at Sergius who was frowning at me.

            “Apprentice?” the concern in his voice was a little heavier than expected.

            Shaking off whatever just happened, I furrowed my own brow. “I… uh… yes.” And my hand gave it back to him without my permission, “Done.”

            _What? No! No, no, no! You’ve not even done anything you gods damned fool!_

            Despite internally yelling at myself, I made sure my face gave away nothing. I think I even smiled at him as if proud of my accomplishment. But the panic in my mind threatened to silently tear me apart as he evaluated my lack of work. I was going to be kicked out and made to work as a barmaid in Winterhold. Worse: I’d be forced back onto the streets. In Skyrim. At least in Cyrodiil, the weather was nicer and the people carried more golds in their pockets. Oh, gods I—

            “Color me surprised,” Sergius reached for my hand and then firmly placed the watch into my shaking one. “Bit of some old methods that beginning mages at the Arcane University still practice to get their feet wet with some of the things I’ve taught you. But, whatever works. Congratulations.”

* * *

 

            The early hours of the morning welcomed me to a new day that I hadn’t been entirely prepared for. After a long night of celebration and food enough to feed a small army, everyone else slept soundly. I couldn’t. Physically and because Enthir wanted me to meet a business partner on the outskirts of Winterhold. With barely enough light to see by, the remnants of night allowed the chilly air to whip at my cloak, the thick and heavy hood often needing readjustment due to the wind that would cause my hair to fly into my eyes. I should have pinned it up or at least braided it.

            As snow and ice cracked beneath my boots, my mind wouldn’t leave me be. The entire night, I’d been plagued by what had happened. Sergius had declared the timepiece to be enchanted but I had no idea what I’d done. The first hour or so alone, I poured through books and scrolls but not once did I come across the word _tiid_. It’s as if didn’t exist outside of my head. Even more troubling to me was the fact that it felt like it belonged with _su’um_   and _bormah_ and _monah_. But I had no idea as to _why_ I had reason to believe that. When I was younger, my family joked about my words for my parents but now, nearing twenty seasons past, I kept finding new words with no explanation.       

            As if to break me from my thoughts, a guard walking by stopped me and asked where I was off to. I simply said, “College business,” and that was enough to satisfy him. The guards in this hold weren’t nearly as attentive or watchful as in others but who could blame them? Save for the College, Winterhold held little of interest. Especially any criminal element. Which made Enthir’s involvement with his “organization” easier.

            Nearing the outside of the town, I could make out a tall, dark figure in a long cloak. The figure didn’t pace, made no movements. If it weren’t for the gentle swaying of his clothing, I’d have had no clue that it was a person standing in the bitter cold. Waiting on me, I presumed. But I made no effort to quicken my pace, instead maintaining the sluggish trudge that the weather caused my legs to keep. When I finally got close enough to make out his features, the man nodded toward me and asked, “How’s Enthir?”

            The Bosmer had warned me that there was a particular set of questions that I’d have to answer in _very_ specific ways in order to make sure this exchange was successful. The man’s thick, blond beard gave nothing about his face away. His intense stare didn’t move from my eyes. “He’s had a lot of time on his hands to work on his collection.”

            The man grunted. “And does it have a nice home.”

            I swallowed. Out of every possible scenario Enthir and I had run through, the word “home” had never come up. Once. I couldn’t read this man’s expression, much less divine what answer _wouldn’t_ completely ruin this job. So I made a split second decision and hoped that it wasn’t entirely a mess.

            “Home is nice but the world is wide.”

            The words had a ring of truth to them, a truth that I could buy into.

            Surprisingly, the man grinned widely. “Nice to see Enthir’s finally found someone smart to work with. Tell him I’ll be back in a week if he’d like to see Eastmarch.” He produced a piece of soft, folded parchment from an unknown pocket and handed it to me. “Looking forward to seeing you again, little blackbird.”

            I’m sure it was meant to insult me but the way he had so easily called me such a silly thing tugged at my heart. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the late posting--I'm super busy this summer. Thank you so much for being patient!
> 
> I'm posting this late and am running around like mad with work but I thank you all so, so much for the views, comments, and kudos! 
> 
> I hate not being able to say too much about this chapter due to time but there's a lot going on here! Lemme know what you think! Next update will be a Rook and Raven chapter! Thanks for reading! -Ash


	14. Rook and Raven II

 

            Tyval laughed, remembering something that I wasn’t privy to. “The year that I received my marks, there was a young Altmer who annoyed the _Oblivion_ out of everyone. Students, instructors, you name it. When it came time to brand him, he cried and carried on about how much it hurt.”

            I snorted to myself and glanced at my gloved left hand. “Well, no shit.” We’d decided that we needed air, the early morning dew just now settling on the dreary and dirty city of Bravil. I wasn’t quite ready to begin our journey to Skyrim. Having been away so long, it was almost like the place didn’t exist. _Almost_. I slipped off my gloves and studied the back of one palm. He watched as I did so. Then he examined his own.

            “May my sinister be sharp,” he began.

            “And my dexter broad,” I finished the last part of the oath, turning my attention to my now uncovered right palm. “But I’m surprised _you_ were the one who had to tell Neloth that I was a mage. Of sorts.”

            At that he laughed and pressed a thumb into each of his palms, marveling as thin, glowing purple lines wove in on themselves on the back of his left hand and matching orange-red ones took different paths on his right. I frowned but followed suit, watching as the dark black lines burned themselves into my skin. My stomach soured slightly. It was funny; I’d forgotten they had colors once. I stuck out my right hand next to my brother’s, comparing.

            “You know Neloth,” his voice sounded far away, still staring at our matching right hands, aside from the color and quality of the lines. “Always lost in his own world.”

            Some part of me was comforted, knowing we both had studied destruction. But then I took a glance at his left hand and saw the enchanting mark on it. Frowning, I grumbled, “Is _that_ what you call it?”

            He put away his palms, obviously a little flustered by my own black marks. “Elana and Rilas did everything they could to get me the best training. And Master Neloth is the best when it comes to enchanting. You try living with the man for years; it wasn’t easy. I had to adjust to his way of teaching. And living.” The words were coming out of him quickly, like he was ashamed to say them in front of me. “And breathing.”

            I couldn’t blame him. Well, I _did_ blame him but I’d spent the first few days of our reunion being filled with such rage that I was burnt out now. All of my emotions burned off and the only thing spared was the knowledge that I now had my brother back. Although painful and—at times—hard to navigate, we made do. Tyval has suggested that I meet Elana and Rilas in Imperial City since we’ll need to pass through there anyway. That and he has to tell them about everything that’s transpired. He often talks about Charvek or, as Tyval describes her, his “Redguard nursemaid.”  I suspect that it’s a term of endearment for someone who could snap my neck in two. Difficult was an understatement listening to Tyval talk about his new family who obviously loved and cherished him dearly.

            “I spent _enough_ time with him.” I rolled my eyes. “Or didn’t you hear? I’m a member of House Telvanni now.” I busied myself with watch some gull fly off in the direction of the river.

            Tyval’s mouth dropped and his eyes went wide. “ _What_?”

            I laughed, shoved him a little harder than I should have. He glared at me but I explained, “Make no mistake: it’s meant to be a punishment, not an honor.”

            At _that,_ his face softened into concern, “Punishment? For what? You _do not_ want that elf after your head. He’ll take it and then some.”

            Waving off his concerns, I absentmindedly ran fingers through my hair, pulling gently at some of the wild curls that had gotten tangled in on themselves. “Oh, it’s just run-of-the-mill blackmail. Needn’t bother yourself with worrying.” I stopped and pointed at his own hair. “You should take Belwen up on that offer, have her cut your hair for you.”

            He crossed his arms and raised his brows in skepticism. “‘Run-of-the-mill blackmail,’ huh? Well, praise the Eights, Nines, and Tens. For a moment there, I was concerned it was out-of-the-ordinary blackmail. You know, something along the lines of the Dark Brotherhood.”

            My laughter immediately stopped and I bit the inside of my cheek. “Yes. Well, I wouldn’t waste your time worrying about _that_ either.” Before the question could leave his mind, I interrupted with, “Something happened at the College. Something involving a member of House Telvanni.”

            Tyval took one of my still-marked hands and examined the writing in them. “I’m guessing it has something to do with this ‘misconduct’ written here.”

            I allowed my hand to stay there in his as he ran his fingers over the daedric characters and lines. It was so strange—this. There he was, my brother, looking on my accomplishments that I once wanted him to take pride in but now all I desired was to forget my entire time at the College. With Brelyna. However, he had to know _everything_. If I was going to go through with asking him for a long, over-due favor, then Tyval would need to know the entire story. It was part of the reason I’d made peace with him for all the years lost.

            What I planned on asking my brother would make up for all of it. Interest included. 

            But he wouldn’t be happy with it.

            For that matter, it wouldn’t make _anyone_ pleased.

            Which is why I needed to keep it to myself until the time was right.

            “It was a _little_ more than misconduct,” I laughed bitterly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was easy enough to edit and get up quickly after last night's update since it deals directly with what happens with the exams--gaining marks and the like. Raven's Song chapter 4 is a detailed look at the process of gaining one's marks within any school of magic in Tamriel (at least with my work). The three chapters together are meant to be read in close succession of one another, so if you're interested, I'd now go read RS ch. 4 right after this and the previous Relentless chapter.
> 
> But, more interesting, I wonder what it is that Rook is keeping from everyone?
> 
> Thanks for reading! -Ash


	15. Arc 1: Chapter 8

I had never been happier or ran more ragged in the four years that followed. Past twenty-two seasons and my time at the college had been spent with Phinis mastering conjuration and with Faralda having a  _ bit  _ too much fun mastering destruction magic. In between lessons and research, Enthir didn’t let my willingness to work go to waste. At first, the jobs stayed simple. Obviously just things to test my trustworthiness, I took carriages to the Pale and Eastmarch to meet contacts and hand over papers or packages. Then the work escalated: small pickpocketing jobs at Frost Hearth, forging some numbers in the books so that no one would be suspicious, and—blessedly only once—a break-in into the jarl’s longhouse to steal something from the jarl’s steward, Malur Seloth.

As Enthir explained, “Bastard cheats me and thinks he can get away with it? I’ll give you _half_ of the cut if you pull this off.”

And half I got.

But my hard work wasn’t without rewards. Brelyna, Onmund, and J’zargo busied themselves with their own work but I saw Brelyna and J’zargo the most. Often, our projects overlapped one another so long hours were spent working out details, puzzling over set-backs, and laughing at mishaps. Amazingly, I eventually opened up to Brelyna about my family, or rather my lack thereof. Alone on her bed, she huffed and grumbled to herself as her efforts to tame my hair into something neat all went woefully awry.

“Elya,” she tugged on a strand and I winced. “Just let me cut it.”

“It’s the dead of winter. _No_.”

Groaning a bit, her hands fell to her lap. “What on Nirn did you do when you were younger? Did your whole family have this…” her voice trailed off, at an obvious loss to describe the hair my blood yielded. “Gods, I’ve never seen hair so black or wild in my life.”

“My brother and I inherited _monah_ ’s hair,” the words left before I realized what I’d said.

“ _Moan_ nah?” the Mer butchered the word in her mouth.

I shook my head and snatched the brush from her hand. “It doesn’t matter. I can take care of it.” In my hands, the brush became a weapon as I yanked it through quickly and painfully. Brelyna stayed my wrist, causing me to stop.

“Alright, I’m not in the mood to deal with your reluctance to talk about how you’re feeling. Either tell me or stop throwing a tantrum.”

Instead of hurling the brush onto the bed and leaving, I simply told her. Everything. When I was finished, there were no tears—just her silence. Her red eyes searched mine but I couldn’t tell what she was thinking. And then, without warning, she threw herself at me and her arms were tight against my body. Without thinking, my arms wrapped around her and I rested my head on her shoulder.

“Oh, _Elya_ ,” her voice was quiet.

I didn’t say anything at first, my eyes closed and my heart settling into its normal pace. A weight had been lifted off of my shoulders now that at least one person knew. She had told me so much about her family and their expectations. Now it felt more equal and with that, our comfortable silence was more than enough for the moment. Brelyna then gently pushed me away, grabbed the brush, and commanded, “It won’t do to give up on this now.” Once or twice she’d ask me questions about Pavo and about being a thief but she never called me a criminal.

But after that moment she told me, “The future is much more interesting than the past. You’re here now.”

My habit of keeping journals flourished again now that I wasn’t forced to spend hours taking notes; however, instead of writing down the day’s events, I’d record my findings, interesting things I’d learned, or educated speculations. My bookshelf amassed quite a sizeable collection and I was quite pleased with my progress at the College. Despite being miserable and cold, Winterhold became my home. Even though the few residents in the town despised mages, my less than savory dealings through Enthir allowed me to make a few contacts. It made for easy exploitation of the guards on occasions where my hands didn’t cooperate fully during a job. A bribe here and a good word there ensured I never saw time in the Chill.

In all of that time, Tolfdir and the other masters floated about. If we found need of them, a trip to their lab or a meeting in their room remedied whatever query stifled our progress. Once in awhile, one of us—usually J’zargo or I—would cause a bit of mischief and Tolfdir would play the absent-minded fool, asking us to politely find his favorite alembic. His request was actually passive-aggressive punishment as the alembic would sometimes find its way in unsettling places such as waste buckets. He refused to take it until it was spotless. I quickly found that being mindful and considerate were preferable to scrubbing shit from the narrow glass tubes. So it came as a bit of a shock one morning when Tolfdir dropped in on us during our morning breakfast and asked us to meet in the Hall of Elements.

“Well then,” Onmund examined a piece of cheese before popping it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully before swallowing. “I’m going to guess that this isn’t a social call.”

I rolled my eyes and allowed my head to rest in my hand, propped up lazily by the table. My cheek squished upward and I yawned. “I _really_ appreciate how he asked politely as if it were some sort of request we could decline. Had I known we were having a mandatory meeting this morning, I wouldn’t have stayed up late working on that stupid thing I’m helping Arniel with.”

“Perhaps J’zargo’s talents will finally be recognized and rewarded accordingly,” the Khajiit purred happily, smiling wide. I threw a grape at him which he unsuccessfully pawed at. He’d recently developed a new technique for a waterbreathing spell; since water was notorious for being unbendable under any mage’s hands, any progress with it was seen as spectacular. Although lately, the only thing _spectacular_ about the accomplishment was the manner in which it escalated the Khajiit’s arrogance from mild annoyance to intolerable aggravation.

Brelyna elbowed me gently and tossed me a suspicious look. “Why in Azura’s name are you helping _Arniel?_ ”

“What?” I swallowed some bread. “We’re practically a guild at this point. Phinis, Arniel and me: _great_ Breton conjurers of the _great_ College of Winterhold.”

“You should start collecting dues soon,” Onmund quipped.

“Yes, well, as much as I hate to point this out, as another one of Master Gestor’s students, I’ve not heard anything about a new project,” Brelyna countered.

My stomach turned a little at the thought of outright lying to her. Her uncanniness to pick up on the smallest of off details deterred me, but there also existed the possibility that I might one day deceive her in such a fashion that she’d be unable to forgive me. My past as a thief might be absolved on the virtue of my youth but I’d have no excuse now. The College and my work meant a new start. One _without_ overt criminal activity. But as I _was_ engaging in less than savory work, precautions were in order. First, Enthir had suggested that I find a master who would need me to make lots of trips outside the College. Constant coming and going for no reason would raise suspicions. Second, while Arniel did make me travel a lot, he didn’t _exactly_ have approval for the project he was working on. The Dwemer disappearance was not only considered a problem for Morrowind researchers but also completely unrelated to magic as far as Winterhold masters were concerned. So, while the layers of secrecy worked in my favor, I doubted Brelyna would be overjoyed at the discovery. But where outright deception would fail, light hostility usually sufficed.

“What business is it of yours?” I snapped. “J’zargo isn’t inventing new ways to manipulate water by sharing his findings with all of gods damned Skyrim.”

Her eyes widened a bit but she scoffed, “Well, then, what little sleep you _did_ get was apparently under Vaermina’s influence.”

It wasn’t lost on me that J’zargo and Onmund simply ate in silence as the exchange occurred, but Tolfdir’s unexpected and sudden request quickly returned as the topic of interest and remained so until we reached the Hall of Elements. The first year here it had been our main place of study but I seldom saw it now, aside from special lectures or demonstrations. But here we were again, much as my first day had been. Tolfdir standing in front of the four us and smiling kindly. Almost _too_ kindly.

“It has been _such_ a pleasure to see all of you grow to be such fine mages. As all of you are aware, the College’s rich tradition of offering a quality education not only concerns itself with practice and theory but also history!”

Oh, _gods_.

This was sounding like something worse than bad: _boring_.

I bit the inside of my cheek to stave off a groan lest Tolfdir decide to conveniently “lose” his alembic again.

He continued cheerily, “I think perhaps we’ve come to a point in your education where you can begin to explore various applications of your work _outside_ of the college.”

I glanced around and saw Onmund’s face scrunch in confusion. He raised his hand. “Not to be rude, but for years we’ve been told to keep our work _here_.”

Tolfdir chuckled and clarified, “Oh, goodness! Not out in _Winterhold_. The College has undertaken a fascinating excavation in the ruins of Saarthal nearby. It’s an excellent learning opportunity!”

“Wait,” I interrupted. “That old archeological dig site that Arniel works on?”

Brelyna gently objected, “I told Master Gane long ago I didn’t want to help with that.”

The old master’s face sobered for a moment, as if something about the news was off. Even his voice sounded softer, “Yes, well… apologies. I suggest we meet there in a few hours and see what awaits us inside. That’s all. Thank you.”

He left us to stand around, the four of us. J’zargo groaned, “This one is not meant to dig around in Nordic ruins.”

I stared at the exit toward the courtyard. “Something doesn’t seem right about this.”

Brelyna and Onmund didn’t say anything but who could blame them? A few years ago, Arniel had tried convincing the college that we needed to dig deeper into the old ruins, the first Nordic settlement in Skyrim. Onmund had objected because he didn’t want to poke around the tombs of what could possibly be his dead ancestors. Every elf had refused the offer; history hadn’t been clear on _which_ elven force was behind its demise but every historian agreed that Saarthal and its citizens had fallen under Mer hands. J’zargo and I had called it a waste of our time.

Despite any of our previous objections, all of us went back upstairs to pack and dress for the weather. On the four hour journey, we speculated as to why Tolfdir suddenly decided we needed to help with the excavation.

“Do you think it has something to do with Ancano?” Brelyna mused.

J’zargo shrugged. “The elf has been more annoying lately. He wouldn’t stop looking over this one’s shoulders while I worked the other day.”

“Same here,” Onmund confirmed. “And I’ve heard that he’s been in Mirabelle’s office every day for the last two weeks.”

Kicking a stray rock down a hill, I added, “The Arch-Mage has been absent lately.” My thick winter boots sunk into the untouched, glittering snow. “Do you think it has something to do with Saarthal?”

Onmund scoffed. “You think the Arch-Mage would bother with such things?”

“No,” I flipped my hood over my head and nestled inside the warmth. The biting winds whipped at my flushed cheeks. “I think it sounds awfully suspicious that we’re suddenly being told where to go and what to do after years of independent work.”

“J’zargo does not like it,” the Khajiit half-hissed.

Brelyna made a good point though. When I’d first arrived, Ancano came across as little more than a persistent nuisance with too much time on his hands. This past year highlighted his more dubious nature. Urag complained more than once that the elf showed too much interest in the collections that he kept locked up—he warned us to keep an eye on him. Brelyna once asked me, as a “former” thief, what I thought about his activities.

“Highly suspect,” was my answer.

But what motivated him was unknown. Urag reported what Ancano read to Mirabelle and, from what I knew, there was no rhyme or reason to the topics. Well, none that could be determined as of yet. As we reached the outskirts of the site, we’d all agreed that Tolfdir’s request was motivated by whatever the Thalmor was up to.

The remains of Saarthal appeared more like a pile of bricks and rickety walkways than a former city. But the snow-covered ruins held much more underneath, far below than what could be seen now in the Fourth Era. As we made our way down the hill to the entrance, I could make out a figure walking around. More than likely Tolfdir, I briefly wondered how he managed to arrive so quickly. Spotting us, he waved enthusiastically.

“Good to see Skyrim still has such fine people,” he joked. “Gives an old man hope!”

I rolled my eyes. “Can we just get this over with?”

“Please,” Brelyna added a bit more gently, but she was still annoyed with having to trudge in the snow and ice.

Tolfdir waved at us dismissively while turning to open the door with an old key. After unlocking it, he snapped his fingers and a faint blue glow broke. Whatever was down here, the college felt it worthwhile to magically seal it. “All right, then. Don’t be so temperamental.” He glanced back at me and added, “ _Elya_.”

I bit my tongue and nodded as he warned us to stay close to him. I prayed that I wouldn’t be asked to find an alembic when we returned. It was amazing how much warmer it was underground compared to outside. As we trekked down the path, dangling roots gently brushed our shoulders and heads. Musty, the air felt oppressively stale.

“Who knows what could be found down here,” J’zargo mused.

“It’s thousands of years old,” Brelyna whispered. “Could be anything.”

“Bodies,” I guessed, also keeping my voice down. “Lots and _lots_ of bodies.”

J’zargo beamed, “Perhaps also some valuables?”   

“We’re here on _official_ business,” the Dunmer reminded him.

Tolfdir had been lecturing us on the history of Saarthal but I hadn’t bothered to listen. It wasn’t until he mentioned the phrase _Night of Tears_ that Onmund bristled a bit.

“I'm surprised that the College is allowed to excavate here.”

“Amazing, right?” Brelyna gazed around at the scaffolds and platforms around us.

“I’d use the word _offensive,_ but, sure, amazing too,” the Nord crossed his arm and glared at the excavation site.

J’zargo patted him on the back. “Aren’t you excited to see what's in there? This is important to you Nords, isn't it?”

“Not excited, no. Some _very_ bad things happened here.”

I snorted, “You know, J’zargo, that whole thing with the elves?” I shrugged. “Well, it all worked out in the end, didn't it?”

Onmund shook his head and concluded, “I think, given the state of Skyrim, some might disagree.”

We never talked about the state of Skyrim at the college. Winterhold was far removed from whatever was going on and I liked it that way. Whispers ran like wildfire in town that being so close to Windhelm might prompt Ulfric Stormcloak to begin moving forces farther north, but rumors were the only evidence those ideas had. Living among a Thalmor agent didn’t make us feel any safer though. I wanted nothing to do with politics.

We continued carefully navigating the rickety wood scaffolding. We had to file one in front of the other; the narrow walkways wouldn’t have been so daunting were they also not flanked by sharp drops onto hard ground. All of us threw candlelight spells over our heads as the meager torchlight did little for our vision. Sometimes the scaffolds declined sharply and at other times my feet threatened to slip on algae-covered stone when we were forced to use pillars to get the next set of scaffolds. I could hear J’zargo make noises of displeasure, probably miserable from cobwebs getting caught in his fur and whiskers. I could at least swipe at the thick collections without fear of it sticking too long to my skin.

Finally, we ended up on the very lowest level and—more importantly—solid ground. Tolfdir waited until we all gathered around to address us. He clapped his hands together and an echo bounced around for a moment. “Well then. This is an exciting opportunity for us. To be able to study such an early civilization and the magics they used…” he simply smiled and shrugged. “Well, are there any questions?”

“Now what?” I grumbled.

He frowned at me. No question about it now: once we returned, he was going to make sure that his alembic would find its way into somewhere horrible. Probably half-buried in the snow by the coast where the bitter cold met the winds off the water. “Why don’t you see if you can assist Arniel Gane? You’ve been working with him lately. You can help with cataloging our finds. I expect he’d appreciate some help in locating any additional magical artifacts here in the ruins.” I _almost_ successfully suppressed a glare until he added, “Any enchanted items will do; the usefulness of the enchantment is irrelevant. If you do find anything, the class can look it over.”

No. He had skipped the petty punishment and went straight to a direct reprimand for my attitude. Not only did I have to play archaeologist but I had to find _enchanted_ items which, my problems with enchanting being infamous at the College, was adding insult to injury. I stormed out toward the direction Tolfdir had indicated. He has assigning everyone else jobs but I couldn’t hear what they were. The tunnels wound deep and narrow, barely supported by wooden beams. Piles of rocks and dirt littered the already scarce space I was able to traverse. Worse, the moisture in the cave caused a thick fog to envelope the area; the spell above me gave me at best a foot of visibility. But finally a bright light shone at the end.

I found Arniel surrounded by candles and torches, bent over a book. “Well, certainly none of this will benefit my research…” he mumbled, the words lightly reverberating around him.

“Hi, Arniel,” I sighed. “Tolfdir sent me to help you.”

“What?” he glanced over his shoulder, a barely surprised look across his face. “Oh, it’s you.”

“Don’t get _too_ excited now.”

He went back to his book. “Let me guess: you couldn’t keep your mouth shut.”

“Was it that obvious?”

Arniel shook his head. “Well, if you’re going to help that’s fine. Just don’t make a mess of my work. I’ve only looked through a portion of this section. You, uh, can look around in the chambers just north of here.” He waved in the general direction. “Try and be careful, alright?” I was a little shocked at his concern until he added, “We don’t want to damage anything.”

I rolled my eyes and headed north.

The section Arniel hadn’t investigated yet was small enough that I could easily divide my work. It was easy enough: rummage around and feel for enchantments. I’d spent a fair bit of time learning how to decide if something was enchanted or not; Brelyna helped for many of those hours. It turned out that with a little extra effort, I was quite good at recognizing and distinguishing between enchantments. It was the actual enchanting and disenchanting I was shit at. Most of what I found were weakly enchanted rings scattered about. Some were in plain sight, some were buried in thick webs. It made sense for Nords to prefer enchanted rings; in battle, one was less likely to lose or break such a thing. But when I reached the end of the tunnel which was blocked off by a gate, I found a small area swathed in light and gold.

To one side there lay an altar about my height. Inset into a wedge of stone carved with strange designs was a tiny enclave. Inside of that rested an intricate amulet. Something about it seemed… powerful. I reached out, touched it, and then wrapped my fingers around the cold and bright metal. I lifted it just a fraction and the ground beneath my feet shook violently. I cried out, jumped back, and dropped the damned thing.

“Namira’s shit!” My heart raced and I could hear echoes of faraway yelling come from the main chamber. My feet refused to move from where I stood and I dared not pick the amulet back up. Multiple footsteps raced towards me and it gave me motivation to meet them. My eyes widened as I found that where I’d entered was now blocked off by a set of iron bars. Tolfdir and Arniel’s faces appeared in the dark, mage lights stuck to various corners of the walls.

“What in the world was that racket? Is everything all right?” Tolfdir managed to get out. I’d never seen him so obviously shaken.

Before I could stutter anything out, Arniel snapped at me, “You had better not have ruined anything important!”

I lunged at the bars and snarled, “I’m _trapped_ in here! What on Nirn could I _possibly_ be ruining?”

“How in the world did that happen?” Tolfdir asked.

When we returned, I was going to shove his stupid alembic up his arse. Glancing over my shoulder behind me, I took a quick look around but saw no switches or levers or buttons. My heart raced and my knuckles turned white from my grip on the bars.

“How in Oblivion should I know?” I spit out. “I was looking around—like _Master Arniel_ told me to do—and the only thing I’ve done is pulled an amulet from the wall!”

His and Arniel’s faces twisted in confusion, their features made harsher by the bright light. Arniel kept silence probably out of the knowledge that this _had_ been what he told me to do. Tolfdir stroked his beard for a moment, stared at the floor. Finally, he responded.

“Really? Perhaps the amulet is important somehow. Is there a way you can use it?”

My mouth went flat and I arched an eyebrow. “It’s an _amulet_. It’s not even _enchanted_.”

Both of the mages shrugged and I threw up my hands. They mumbled something about searching for a way to undo the trap and quickly scattered to parts unknown. With my hands still gripped on the bars, I threw a leery glance over my shoulder at the amulet. I decided to give up on my instructors for any help and went back to where I’d dropped the damned thing. Gently, I nudged it with my foot. Nothing. Bending over, I pushed it with a finger. Again, nothing.

“ _Great_ ,” I muttered. Snatching it up, I tried to tell if anything was happening but it was as if all was well. The amulet didn’t look special. Just old and a bit fragile. What I should possibly be _doing_ with it was beyond me. The only use it seemed to have was to be worn but that couldn’t be a sensible solution. So I wandered around, my hands desperately searching for _something_ that would release me from the small space. I paced back and forth, the necklace gripped in one hand. Once or twice I tried yelling of the bars that overlooked the main excavation site but I received no response.

I tired of carrying the thing around, so my fingers fumbled at the latch and I placed the amulet around my neck. Nothing _felt_ funny but just as I was about to return to the bars holding me here to scream for someone to return, I faced the wedge of stone where the amulet had come from. And _that’s_ when a strong pull of magic nearly toppled me over. The air between me and the wall that held the stone pulsed in strange waves. It wasn’t just me but also the amulet that held the strongest link of distortion to the wall.

“Some kind of resonance…?” I asked no one. “The amulet and the wall must be linked. When I separated the two, the break triggered something.” My hand grazed the wall and I wondered how fragile the stone was. With a snap of my fingers, fire whirled to life in my palms. “Let’s find out.”

The stone broke as if the structure were made of pebbles. Behind it was a large opening to who knew where. Accompanying its destruction was the sound of the bars moving again, the ground not shaking quite as violently this time. Tolfdir came flying through.

“Would you look at _that_!”

“I’m fine. Thanks for asking.”

He ignored me. “This appears to lead somewhere. Let’s see where it goes.”

I groaned. It wasn’t enough for me to have been trapped by myself and to use my own wiles to escape. _Nooooo._ Now I had to traipse through some gods damned ruins that probably hadn’t seen the light of day in eras. Fantastic. But I followed dutifully, climbing over rocks and bumping my head against low-hanging formations. From ahead, I heard Tolfdir muse about something.

“What?” I called out, my voice bouncing back to me.

“I said this is highly unusual but very interesting.”

“Sure, interesting. I bet the only thing that’s back here are more dead Nords.”

“I wouldn’t be so flippant, Elya. Why in the world would the dead be sealed off? What is this place?”

Not wanting to admit he had a good point, I stayed silent until we reached a small room with nothing but a desk surrounded by lit candles. The desk had parchment and other various tools on it, but the  
candles were what were the most disturbing. No one had touched this area for _years_ at best. Strong magic must have kept them lit. Tolfdir said something but I couldn’t quite make it out, even though we were the only two present and he was only a foot away from me.

“What?” My head swam and my mouth felt like it had been stuffed with cotton.

Then a bright light exploded from behind me, engulfing Tolfdir. I spun around but my vision began to blur. Panicking, I yelled out and tried to reach out for him but my hands went right through him. The world around me had gone faint, strange lights floating around in a circular fashion.

“Oh, _what_ in Oblivion?” I managed to stammer out.

“Speak quickly,” a voice addressed me.

I nearly fainted.

Behind me was an Altmer in strange robes, considering me.

“Hold, mage, and listen well—” he began.

I breathed to life lightning spells in both of my hands. “Who in Oblivion would I be listening to and do I need to _kill_ him?” I hadn’t killed anyone before but this mysterious elf who appeared out of nowhere seemed like a good candidate to be my first.

He rolled his ethereal eyes. “ _Listen_. Know that you have set in motion a chain of events that cannot be stopped.”

My hands dropped to my side and I shook the sparks from them. “Come again?”

But he simply continued. “Judgment has not been passed, as you had no way of knowing.”

“ _Judgement_?” I nearly shrieked. “I picked up a gods damned _amulet_.”

He waved my concerns aside and explained, “Judgement _will_ be passed on your actions to come and how you deal with the dangers ahead of you.”

I ripped the amulet from my neck, the cord snapping soundlessly in the strange suspension that I was held in. Shoving it towards him, I pleaded, “No, no no. I do _not_ know what this is all about but I’m just an _apprentice._ I’ve only been studying magic for four years. I’m not even up for consideration to join the masters until _at least_ another ten. Whoever you think you’re speaking to, it’s _not_ me.”

He frowned at me and then used his hand to gently fold my fingers over the amulet. “This warning is passed _to you_ because the Psijic Order believes in _you,_ Apprentice Ashwing.”

My mouth dropped at the same time the amulet did so from my hands. “Me?”

He nodded solemnly. “Yes. You and you alone have the potential to prevent disaster.” I opened my mouth to ask who he was but he interrupted. “Take great care and know that the Order is watching.”

The world turned in on itself and the color and warmth were back. The amulet was also back in my hand, as if I’d never dropped it. Tolfdir picked up right where he’d left off.

“I said that this area—” Then his face contorted a bit, as if his thoughts weren’t quite right. “Did… did something strange just happen? I swear I felt something.”

“A ghost!” I blurted out. His eyes went wide. “A ghost or some sort of apparition. It _just_ left. It spoke to me.”

He shook his head slowly. “I’m afraid I didn’t see anything.”

“I’m not mad!”

“Alright, alright,” he threw his hands up as if to tell me to calm down. “Why don’t you tell me what you saw then?”

My eyes darted from the amulet to him and then to the place the Altmer had been standing. I threw my hands into the air. “I don’t know! Something about danger ahead and a Psijic Order and about—”

“The Psijic Order? Are you _certain_?” Tofdir’s voice suddenly became very serious. “Are you _quite_ sure about that?”

“Yes!”

“And danger ahead? None of this makes any sense.”

“I’m _aware_ ,” I fumed. Nearly shouting at this point, I continued, “But I know what I saw and what I heard!”

“But the Psijic Order has no connection to these ruins,” he countered. “Not to mention, no one’s seen any of their order in a _long_ time.” He looked around and mused, “Perhaps we should take a look in these coffins that are around here.”

“ _Excuse me_?” I shrieked. “You want to look in the _coffins_ after a ghost just told me that danger was ahead?” I strategically left out the part about being judged. If I didn’t know what was going on, I didn’t want to do anything that would cause me to be in trouble with higher powers.

Tolfdir began his investigation, ignoring my concerns. “Just be careful. No telling what we might find.”

Next thing I knew, we were completely surrounded by draugrs.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To say that I've had a rough go of it this summer is a gross exaggeration. BUT! I'm working through everything and, while it's a slow pace, I'm still going. Unfortunately, that means all of my updates are just on a "whenever I'm caught up with everything else" basis. So, here's an update! This chapter is really exciting to me because I get to start writing Elya as she will be when she first finds out she's the Last Dragonborn: optimistic, inspired, and the feeling of having a destiny larger than oneself. It'll only make the fall that much more sweeter. Obviously, Rook isn't like this in RoS. Rook's time at the College definitely influences how she is when she's older. 
> 
> I know there have been lots of kudos, comments, and a great deal of interaction on Tumblr (@skyrim-fanfiction) and I'm SO sorry for not being able to get back to everyone but, trust me, all of your kind words and support mean so much to me. It really is the light of my day to hear that you guys enjoy what I'm doing. Thank you all so, so much for being patient while I'm working on my exams. By the time October rolls around, my schedule will be much more regular and I can start updating on a more regular basis. 
> 
> This chapter would not have been possible without some key people. My beta-- praeeunt--has been the most patient, thorough, and kind editor I could have ever asked for. I don't know how I got so lucky. I've also received so much emotional support from Kira_Evangeline that I owe her more than I could ever repay. Thank you, you guys!
> 
> And to all of my readers, thank you all so, so much for reading and commenting! I can't wait to be able to update again! -Ash

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, dear readers. Rook of Skyrim was an adventure for me and I hope that all of you will stick around for Relentless. It's a different kind of story: it's longer, it's only Rook's POV, and is set up via arcs as we travel through each story line. Whereas Rook of Skyrim is about the relationship that two people have (and it had two POVs telling the story), Relentless is about loneliness, solitariness, resiliency when all one has themselves, pushing others away, and so on (it's also only one POV).
> 
> In addition, I strongly suggest you read the one-shot Dark Birds to get a look at the Ashwing family before... well, this. Also, between each arc, there will be chapters called "Rook and Raven" in which we'll see a glimpse into Leading the Blind's events. During these chapters, Raven's Song will update giving Tyval's POV since Relentless is about Rook.
> 
> So, this will be a long journey, dear readers. I thank all of you for making my experience on AO3 wonderful so far. I promise to keep updating as soon as I can. This isn't a story that will be finished in a year, but Hero, Event, Prophecy means a great deal to me. Thank you all for sharing in this adventure with me.
> 
> This chapter though? Quite a start. Small details peppered throughout here so I'll be interested in seeing how you think this ties into the larger story or to TES lore in general. Thanks for reading! -Ash


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